


Restart My Broken Heart

by adoctoraday



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bottom Wade Wilson, Cancer, Dom Peter Parker, Dom/sub, Escort Peter Parker, Escort Service, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Wade Wilson, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mercenary Wade Wilson, Mutual Pining, Peter Parker Has a Crush, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Soft Dom Peter Parker, Spanking, Sub Wade Wilson, Subspace, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Peter Parker, Touch-Starved, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade Wilson has PTSD, Wade Wilson has Self-Esteem Issues, Wade Wilson has feelings, but like very gentle spanking, honor bondage, the boxes are a trigger warning all on their own, wade gets high to get rid of the voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/adoctoraday
Summary: Being touch starved — also known as skin hunger or touch deprivation — occurs when a person experiences little to no touch from other living things.Wade can't remember the last time someone touched him without the intent to hurt or injure him. He can't remember the last time he wasn't lonely. He can't remember much good atallanymore. Call it weakness, call it loneliness, call it whatever you want...he's not going to be alone tonight.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 271
Kudos: 849





	1. Chapter 1

Wade stares down at the limp cock in his scarred hand and thinks (not for the first time) about replacing it with his Glock and putting a bullet in his skull so, maybe, just  _ maybe, _ his broken fucking mind and body will quit hurting him. 

_ Do it, wrap those disgusting lips around the barrel and end your pathetic life!  _

**_He’s too weak, he’d never ACTUALLY do it_ **

Wade groans, bending in half as he clutches at his head, trying to ignore the shouting of the voices in his head that have plagued him for years now. 

**_Fuckin useless piece of shit, can’t do anything right_ **

_ C’mon Wade, let’s see what that full metal jacket tastes like! DO IT DO IT DO IT  _

Shuddering, Wade scrambles to his feet, tucking away his cock and his disappointment in favor of the bottle of cheap whiskey he’d been sipping from when he first got back from the job he’d completed tonight. 

He’d hoped that alcohol and a quick jerk off session would help quell the voices in his brain and the agony in his soul, but neither had worked.

**_Because nothing will EVER work Wade, we’ll always be here_ **

_ Haunting you  _

**_Hating you_ **

He chokes on a sob and swallows down more whiskey—empties the bottle and opens another, drinking until he blacks out gratefully, large form limp on the floor, still clad in his blood soaked gear. 

When he wakes, it’s with a hangover so bad he can’t even open his eyes without throwing up. It’s a blessing that he works from home most of the time doing his private investigator schtick—it means he makes his own hours, and on days like today, he can take the morning (and most of the afternoon) off. 

Wade spends the day curled around the toilet, shaking and vomiting till there’s nothing left in his body. He places a delivery for Chinese and drinks a gallon of water while he waits, skin clammy and hands trembling so badly the water spills down his chin and soaks his shirt. 

After the Chinese, he drinks more water, showers and collapses on his bed, listening to the voices in his head argue and taunt him until he falls asleep again. 

When he wakes, it’s a new day, but the voices and self loathing are still there. 

* * *

The voices are quieter today, and Wade’s not sure if it’s just a good day (and isn’t  _ that  _ a laughable concept—his good days are still marked by voices in his head urging him to do horrible, fucked up shit) or if it’s the weed he’s been smoking, but either way, he’s finally feeling…

Well, not  _ normal _ , because there’s nothing normal about Wade anymore, but maybe something approaching normalcy  _ for him.  _

He’s watching porn, cock half hard, a low heat in his gut that’s more promising than anything has been in...months. He takes a long hit off the joint and exhales slowly, watching the bluish grey smoke swirl around his head. 

Closing out the porn, he types in a url that he hasn’t visited in months, hesitating before hitting enter and waiting the three seconds it takes for the page to load. He enters his login and the page shifts to a crimson and black screen with pictures of pretty people in various states of undress, all looking coyly back at him. 

He’d gone with a gorgeous blonde woman last time and had paid dearly for it when she’d seen his skin and refused to even come into his house. He’d tried to pay her anyway, but the agency had refused his payment and had instead credited him with a free session. 

It’s sat unused in his account for months and months and now, he thinks he might like to use it. There’s a banner at the top of the screen declaring that Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children has new employees on roster, so he clicks and scrolls slowly through the options.

A woman catches his eye, and he pauses for a moment before deciding she looks too much like Vanessa for him to get through any encounter without having a panic attack or a flashback. 

He scrolls further and stops, staring at the biggest Bambi eyes he’s ever seen—the creamy golden pale skin and artfully tousled curls like oxygen to the embers in his gut. 

He clicks on the picture and fills out the application for what he’s looking for in this session before he clicks REQUEST and sits back to wait for a response. 

  
  


**Name:** Wade Wilson 

**Age:** 36

**Gender:** Male 

**Sexual activity desired:** gentle domination **,** honor bondage, praise kink, prostate stimulation, multiple orgasms 

**Soft limits:** restraint with hands, gentle teasing, light impact play

**Hard limits:** bondage, humiliation, degradation, blood, piss, scat, hard impact play

**Special requests:** None

  
  


Five minutes later he gets an email with confirmation of his request and the arrival time of the young man he’s chosen. He’s got roughly half an hour before the man shows up, so he sets about cleaning up. 

_ Ha! You think it matters what this place looks like? He’ll just take one look at you and run!  _

**_If he’s smart he won’t even come here at all._ **

Wade ignores the voices and focuses on cleaning; the Chinese and pizza containers go into the trash out back, the sheets get changed, and a candle gets lit in just enough time that he can take a brief shower and work himself open for a quick cleaning and then slip into sweats and a hoodie. 

He debates adding gloves and a ski mask, but the young man needs to see what he’s working with so he has the chance to run—just like the last one. The anxiety is crawling back into his gut and the voices are growing louder as he paces, so he relights the joint and smokes the rest of it at the kitchen window, blowing the fragrant smoke out into the cold night air. 

There’s a knock at the door and he curses softly, crushing the stub into the ashtray before striding over and opening the door to find the man from the website standing on his porch. 

The yellow lighting of the fading bulb makes everyone look jaundiced and sickly, but somehow this gorgeous young man still looks stunning. Wade stares at him for too long—the younger man lifts a brow and smiles faintly, “Can I come in?” he asks in a low voice that sends shivers down Wade’s back. 

“You’re...staying?” 

He’s aware that he’s still standing in the doorway, blocking entry to this pretty young man, but he just can’t fathom that this man ( _ did we get his name yet?)  _ actually wants to come in. 

“Yes...I mean, do you  _ want _ me to go?” 

His pretty little mouth screws up into a pouty frown and Wade inhales shakily, barely restraining himself from reaching out and pressing his fingers to those lush lips. 

“No!” 

“Okay, then I’ll stay.” 

The younger man smiles softly and tilts his head to the side like an adorable puppy, and Wade’s surprise and resistance melts away. He steps aside and lets the young man in, watching as he glances around Wade’s house, posture open but still cautious. 

He’s smart to be cautious in his line of work, there’s plenty of people out there who would like to ruin a pretty young thing like him. 

_ Ooo ooo pick me! I wanna ruin him! Let’s break him and make him cry, lick his tears off his face!  _

**_We’ll make him regret ever coming here...and it’ll be the last thing he does_ **

Wade suppresses a whine and brushes past the younger man to dig out his edibles. He needs something stronger than smoking to mellow him out and silence the voices. 

“Are you alright?” 

Wade pauses, edibles in hand and half turns to nod at the young man, “I...I have anxiety issues,” he says, and it’s mostly the truth even if it’s a few shades away from being the  _ whole  _ truth. 

The young man nods and smiles softly, “I understand, I do too. When you’re ready why don’t we sit down and discuss what you’d like for tonight in more detail?” he offers, waving a hand to Wade’s spacious and plush couch. 

Wade nods and pops the gummies into his mouth, pausing before he joins the young man and goes into the kitchen to get them both glasses of water. 

He’s stalling, he knows, but he can’t help it. 

He’s scared. 

It’s been  _ so long  _ since anyone touched him with kindness, and to have it so close, just within his grasp, is more terrifying than anything he’s experienced in a long time. 

He hands off a glass of water to the young man and sits himself a few feet away, sipping nervously at his water. 

“What’s your name?” he mutters, looking up at the kid from beneath what’s left of his eyelashes. 

The younger man smiles softly and does a dorky little half-wave that almost makes Wade smile. “I’m Peter, and you’re Wade, correct?” 

Wade nods and keeps his gaze averted so he only has to look at Peter and how beautiful he is from askance. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you Wade. If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to discuss how tonight will go. Is that ok with you?”

He contemplates it for a moment and then nods, shooting a quick glance up to meet Peter’s gaze before dropping his again. 

“That’s great Wade, thank you. I see that you requested gentle domination for tonight. Can you tell me what that looks like to you?”

Wade’s scarred fingers toy with the empty glass ( _ when did he drink it all? _ he can’t remember) and he ponders that for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe to Peter what he wants, what he  _ needs.  _

“I…” he swallows hard and tries again. “I don’t want to be hurt or humiliated. I don’t like a lot of pain unless it’s from overstimulation,” he explains softly. “The... _ this shit _ ,” he mutters, waving to his face and body, “hurts enough as it is.”

Peter makes a soft noise and nods but doesn’t interrupt. 

Wade takes that as a positive sign and continues, “I’d like for you to take me down into subspace, but I need a lot of praise and some skin to skin contact for that to happen, and I know  _ this _ is disgusting so if you don’t want to do it, I get it.”

Peter does interrupt this time, reaching out a hand before pausing just above Wade’s arm, the action catching Wade’s attention and drawing his gaze up. 

Peter smiles and motions to Wade’s arm, “Do I have your permission to touch you?” he asks softly, waiting patiently while Wade examines his face for any sign of disgust. When he finds none, he nods and grits his teeth, waiting for Peter’s rejection, waiting to see the disgust and horror in his eyes. 

It doesn’t come though, and Wade is left off balance as Peter squeezes his arm gently, drawing his gaze back up from where it had fallen to stare at Peter’s long thin fingers wrapping around his forearm. 

“Wade I’d like it if you refrained from speaking negatively about yourself. I see a beautiful man before me, and I dislike seeing you tear yourself apart. Can you do that for me? Can you be good for me and be kind to yourself?”

Wade shudders softly at the gentle command in Peter’s voice, low and intoxicating and everything he’s been aching for. He nods, because yeah, for Peter he can do this, he can be good. 

“Very good Wade, thank you. Now, continue please.”

Wade inhales slowly, letting the praise sink into him like warm drops of sunshine on his skin. He breathes for a moment and then nods, “I uh, I enjoy being told what to do, being manhandled and maneuvered how you want me.”

Peter nods and smiles, “That’s great Wade, thank you for sharing that with me. I see you also requested honor bondage—is there a preferred method you enjoy?” 

Wade ducks his chin as a blush rises to his skin, “I uh, I have a metal headboard I can hold onto,” he admits softly, “but I’m fine with just holding onto my forearms or a pillow,” he murmurs, looking sidelong at Peter for his reaction. 

The younger man nods and smiles, “That sounds lovely Wade, I can’t wait to see you like that,” he says, and his voice is so warm that Wade shudders, the gentle words slipping into his veins, softening him. 

He squeezes Wade’s arm again, “Would you mind telling me your limits for restraint by hand?” he asks, holding Wade’s gaze for a long moment before letting it go and reaching for his water, the long column of his throat working for a moment. Wade is utterly captivated, watching as Peter licks the water from his lips before turning back to him. 

Lifting a brow, Peter smirks faintly, “Wade, please answer the question.”

Flushing deeper, he ducks his chin, “Sorry, yeah, a hand around my wrists is good. Sometimes on my chest too, pushing me down, that’s ok. I like a hand at my throat, but I don’t want to be choked,” he hurries to explain, looking up earnestly at Peter. 

Peter nods thoughtfully, “Of course, thank you for sharing that with me like I asked Wade, you’re doing so well so far.”

The blush in his cheeks warms again, and Wade squirms in his seat a little as it spreads down his spine and warms him slowly. He can feel Peter watching him, and he has the urge to get down on his knees and put his head on Peter’s lap, but he doesn’t know if that’s ok, if it’s allowed. 

“You want something Wade, tell me what it is please.”

Swallowing hard, he glances at Peter and then away, “I want,” he hesitates and then tries again, “I want to kneel for you and put my head in your lap,” he admits softly, words coming out in a rush. 

Peter makes a soft pleased sound and when Wade dares a glance up, the younger man is smiling warmly. “That would be lovely Wade, thank you for asking, that was so good. Why don’t you go ahead and get comfortable before we continue?” he suggests softly. 

Relief fills Wade warmly—he’s done good. He nods and slips off the couch, sets his glass aside and shuffles forward on his knees till his torso is hugging Peter’s thigh and the side of his leg. He waits a moment and looks up at Peter, anticipation in his bones, and then, at Peter’s encouraging nod, lays his head down against the fabric of his jeans, eyes falling shut just a moment later. 

“That’s beautiful Wade, thank you, you’re doing so well. Can you tell me; is it ok if I lay my hand on your head?” 

Wade thinks about it for a moment and then nods softly, nose brushing against Peter’s jeans. He inhales and smells vetiver and amber, mahogany and musk and it leaves him soothed, the scent instantly associated with warmth and comfort and Peter. 

Peter’s hand lands on his skull gently, fingers spreading outward slowly, and it feels like Peter is pushing away his anxiety and fear, leaving only the warmth of his touch behind. 

“Last few questions now Wade; you said gentle teasing and light impact play are soft limits for you, can you elaborate for me?”

He thinks about it for a long time and is deeply grateful when Peter doesn’t do more than gently stroke his scalp, humming softly as he waits for Wade’s response. 

He’s slipping a little, getting soft around the edges, but he’s not nearly close to being down yet. It’s perfect actually; he feels in control but not anxious at all—he’s safe and warm here with Peter, and it’s the most delectable sensation. 

Peter’s nails drag gently over his scalp, and he shudders in response, sighing softly. 

“Wade?” 

Right, right, he’s supposed to answer Peter.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “just got...your hand...it feels good,” he admits softly, hiding his face against Peter’s thigh at the admission. 

He can  _ hear _ Peter’s smile, and the fingertips on his scalp press gently into his skin, “That’s good Wade, I’m so glad it feels good for you. Can you tell me about your soft limits please?” 

He nods and takes a slow breath before speaking, “Uh, teasing me about how much I enjoy something is ok, like,” he swallows, tongue feeling thick in his mouth, the words harder to get out now that he’s slipping. 

“Like pet names paired with something mildly derogatory?” Peter suggests, “my sweet slutty baby?” he murmurs. Wade inhales shakily, nodding eagerly as he presses his face harder into Peter’s thigh. 

“Okay darling, I can do that,” Peter agrees, voice warm and firm in a way that leaves Wade dizzy and shaky. “What about light impact play?” Peter encourages, fingers slipping down to caress the nape of Wade’s neck in a move that has him melting. 

_ Fuck, _ Peter is so good at this. All of Wade’s insecurity and anxiety has melted away under the gentle touch of Peter’s hand and the soft command of his honey voice. 

He makes an indecipherable sound and licks his lips, humming softly when Peter’s hand caresses his skin again. 

“R-right, hmm I like gentle spanks on my ass, and ah, uhm, on my sac too?” he whispers, voice rising up questioningly at the end. “But uh, only if I’ve asked for it there, otherwise it’s too much,” he hurries to add, and Peter makes a soft thoughtful noise before massaging a spot behind Wade’s ear that has him practically purring. 

“Very good Wade, thank you for sharing all that with me,” Peter murmurs, “you did so well, I’m so proud of you,” he says warmly, and Wade shudders at the praise, feeling like warm honey is melting down his spine. “Would you be ok with a light slap on the thigh or ass to get your attention or as a corrective action?” 

Wade nods again, “Promise I’ll be good though,” he whispers, and Peter’s fingers trace over the shell of his ear, the tender touch making him shudder pleasantly. 

“I bet you will be honey. Now Wade, do you prefer any title for your dom? What’s a title you’re comfortable with sweetie?” 

Wade thinks about it for a little while before responding; he’s had relatively few doms in his life and had varied experiences with them, and Peter is the best by far. 

He swallows hard and nods, “May I call you Sir?” 

“Yes you may Wade, thank you for asking. Now, most importantly, what’s your safe word?” 

Wade shifts, shoulders rolling and bunching as he hides his face, worry creeping in around the edges. 

“Wade? I have no intention of you needing to use your word, but I need to hear it so I know it in case I make a mistake and do something you don’t like, okay?” 

There’s a beat of silence and then Peter strokes his scalp, “Would it be easier if I shared mine first?” he asks lightly, waiting for Wade’s nod before continuing. “Alright, mine is Goblin.”

Wade’s nose wrinkles in silent laughter at that—it’s silly and odd and perfect for a safe word. The little ball of tension in his chest that had been forming loosens and he sighs happily, warmth stealing back into his blood. 

“Mine is Ajax,” he murmurs, a shudder running through him at the taste of the name on his tongue. Peter must feel it because he makes a soft soothing sound and rubs that spot behind Wade’s ear, and the ugly feeling in his chest eases. 

“Thank you Wade, I appreciate you sharing that with me. I think we’re just about ready, do you agree?”

Wade nods slowly, but doesn’t move, not till Peter tells him what to do. 

“Excellent. Now, one last thing—I prefer to use the stop light method for check ins, have you done that before?” he asks, waiting for Wade’s nod before he continues, “Good. Then when I ask for your color I expect an answer.”

Wade nods eagerly and shifts so he can look up at Peter, “Yes sir.”

Peter smiles at him and it’s like he’s been bathed in sunshine. He hides his face again, hating the way he can feel his cheeks heating at the warmth in Peter’s eyes. 

“Ok Wade, I’d like for you to stand up and go into your bedroom and strip. Lay a towel down, then lay face down on the bed and wait for me there. Can you do that Wade?”

Wade lifts his head now, looks up at Peter and swallows hard, the warm weight of the scene descending on his shoulders. He wants to agree, but...he ducks his chin and hunches his shoulders, the idea of exposing his body leaving him anxious and raw. 

“Wade? Can you tell me what’s wrong please?” 

It takes a few tries to form the words and when he does, he spits them out in a garbled rush. “Myskinisdisgustingyoudon’twanttoseeit.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then Peter’s hand is at his jaw, tilting his chin up gently. “Wade, can you tell me that again but slower this time?” he murmurs encouragingly. 

There’s a knot of cold anxiety in his chest, and the voices in his head are growing louder again, calling him names and taunting him. Whimpering softly, he pulls his chin out of Peter’s grasp and looks down, curling in on himself, arms wrapping around his knees as he tries to hide. 

“Okay Wade, take a deep breath for me please,” Peter murmurs, voice low and insistent, commanding in a way that removes any thought from his head to disobey. He breathes slowly, listening to the way Peter is breathing, trying to match it even though his heart is lurching painfully in his chest. 

“That’s great Wade, you’re doing so well. Now, can you tell me what’s upset you? I need to know if I did something wrong.”

It takes him another minute to answer, throat too tight to speak for a long moment. He keeps his gaze on Peter’s knees, not daring to lift his head and risk seeing disappointment in those whiskey eyes. “My skin. It’s disgusting,” he whispers. “I don’t want...I don’t want you to see it and hate me.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then suddenly Peter is sliding off the couch to kneel beside Wade, one hand gently coming to cover Wade’s where they knot together below his knees. Peter’s hand is warm and gentle, squeezing lightly on Wade’s hands before loosening enough that he could be easily shaken off if Wade wanted that. 

He doesn’t though, he wants Peter to touch him and never stop because he’s never felt more safe than he does when Peter touches him. 

“Wade, I’ve already seen some of your skin, and I don’t find it disgusting. I’m not disgusted by you or your skin. It looks painful to me and for that, I’m sorry, but I don’t pity you. If you want this evening to be over, I can stay with you till you’re certain you’ll be fine on your own, but that choice is yours. I’m here to make you feel good Wade, just tell me what you want and need and I’ll make that happen.”

That’s...not what Wade expected to hear. 

He’s seen so many people walk away, disgust in their eyes when they see him, that he’s practically grown used to it. That doesn’t make it easier to see, but it is...expected. 

He wants Peter to stay, wants to feel good for one night, even if it scares him to think about. 

Inhaling unsteadily, he nods and peeks up at Peter, a shiver running over his skin when Peter smiles warmly back at him, no hint of reproach or judgement in his gaze. “Okay,” he whispers, “I want you to stay. I want us to continue.”

Peter’s smile widens until it looks like it’s shining out of his eyes and when the younger man lifts a hand and cups his cheek, Wade can’t help but fall into the touch. “Very good Wade, thank you for telling me. Now, can you go to your room and strip? Lay down on your belly for me?” he asks softly, thumb stroking the arch of Wade’s cheekbone over and over again as those whiskey eyes hold him captive. 

Wade nods a little shakily before gathering himself up, breathing as slow and steady as he can to keep himself level—he doesn’t want to slip into drop, especially since Peter’s been nothing but kind and sweet to him. 

He feels Peter’s gaze on him as he walks away, shoulders bent forward in embarrassment at his freak out. He stares at the bed for a moment before taking a deep, shaky breath and starts stripping his clothing off. His fingers tremble as he tugs his hoodie off and folds it carefully before setting it on his dresser, trying his hardest to focus on the order Peter had given so he doesn’t think about being so exposed. 

By the time he’s naked, he can hear Peter in the other room, gathering up the black duffle bag he’d brought with him. Hurrying to lay a towel down first, he climbs onto the bed, wiggling in place nervously, tucking his chin down to hide his face and lets out a small whine of anxiety at the touch of cool air on his skin. 

Distantly, he can hear the heating unit kick on and realizes Peter must have adjusted the temperature. There’s the shuffle of bare feet on hardwood and then he can hear Peter in the room with him, the sound of him moving around comforting in its banality. He can hear the catch of a match and peeks up, heart thrumming with delight at the sputter of a wick catching, repeating till the room is filled with the soft glow of candlelight. 

The overhead lights shut off and Wade peeks up again, catching Peter’s eye as the younger man arranges the candles in his room to his satisfaction. Peter grins and wiggles his fingers in a wave, “I like these candles of yours, they smell so nice,” he murmurs. “Where did you get them?”

Wade hums and thinks about it for a moment before responding, “My friend Domino makes them,” he tells Peter, watching from where his face is mostly hidden in the crook of his arm as the other man opens his duffle bag and pulls out what looks like lotion, lube and gloves. 

He hesitates at the sight of the gloves; he should have said it in his form, but he doesn’t like the sensation. He prevaricates for awhile, watching as Peter checks his phone and then sets it aside before turning back to face Wade. 

“Are you ready Wade?” 

Is he? He’s not sure. 

Peter must sense his hesitation because he smiles reassuringly and walks over till he’s standing over the bed, face cast into flickering relief by the glow of the candles. “What’s going through that mind of yours darling?” he asks, voice soft and sweet. 

Wade blushes and hides his face, swallowing a few times before he mumbles into the crook of his arm; “I don’t like gloves. I...after...with my skin, I had...people touching it with gloves.” he hesitates and then continues, “Like it was contagious.” He bites his cheek to keep from crying and jolts slightly when Peter’s fingers brush against his scalp lightly. 

“Alright darling, well we don’t have to use them. Your profile indicates a clean bill of health, so I only need to know if you’ve prepped already—did you take care of cleaning yourself already Wade?”

_ God,  _ the way Peter says that so easily, like it’s not embarrassing...it sets Wade’s cheeks aflame, and he wriggles under Peter’s gaze, nodding silently in agreement. 

“Excellent sweetheart, thank you. I have a scentless lotion with me that I’d like to use on your skin, unless you have one you prefer?” 

He thinks about it for a moment before lifting his chin enough to meet Peter’s gaze, pointing to the darkened door of the bathroom. “There’s a lotion for my skin,” he murmurs, words slurring softly, “on the counter.” Peter gives him another bright smile and strokes Wade’s scalp gently before turning away to retrieve the bottle, and he’s back before Wade can even start to miss his warm presence. 

“I’m going to remain clothed Wade, is that ok with you?”

He nods; the edibles he’d taken are softening his anxiety and making it so much easier for him to relax and slip into subspace than it is when he’s not high. He likes being able to achieve it without them, but after so many years of going without that floating, flying, heady feeling, he’ll take it anyway he can get it. 

Wade looks up, watching as Peter rolls up the sleeves of his blue and purple checked flannel, admiring the way the colors look on his skin. Peter catches him watching and winks, chuckling softly when Wade blushes and hides his face once more, a curl of heat starting to bloom in his belly. 

“You’re such a sweet man Wade, it’s going to make this evening very enjoyable, thank you.” 

Wade whines softly at the praise, already yearning for more. 

He hears Peter laugh again softly and then there’s a hand on his ankle, brushing soothingly over the sharp edge of his bone a few times before the mattress shifts, and Peter’s on the bed with him. Wade hears the sound of the lotion squirting out and then the slick sound of hands rubbing together before his left foot is picked up and massaged slowly. 

Gasping softly, Wade wriggles in place, stilling when Peter pets his thigh and croons for him to hold still, the words sweet and light on his skin. When he settles, Peter’s fingers dig into the arch of his foot, “Good boy Wade, thank you for listening,’ he murmurs as he massages the lotion into Wade’s skin. 

_ Good, he did  _ **_good_ ** .

Peter’s hands move slowly up his calf, massaging lotion into his skin with long soothing strokes. Wade whines softly as his muscles go taut and then lax under Peter’s touch, every inch of his body melting slowly until he’s limp and warm, eyes closed in bliss. 

He’d forgotten what it feels like to be touched without pain, to be caressed as though he’s something precious, to be given kindness instead of revulsion and horror. Tears burn behind his eyes, throat thick, and he pushes his face into the soft coverlet on his bed, shuddering as Peter’s hands press into his thigh, thumbs swiping just under the curve of his ass, no real intention behind it, just clinical attention to detail. 

He’s not sure if the room is warmer or if it’s just him, but slowly, his whole body turns soft like warm caramel, the rising tide of subspace forming around him so slowly he barely notices it till he’s well on his way to being under. 

“You’re doing so well Wade, thank you for staying so still for me,” Peter murmurs as he switches to Wade’s right leg, starting the whole process over again. Wade whines softly, wriggling for a moment before settling. Peter laughs sweetly, “You’re a big ole teddy bear aren’t you honey?” he asks teasingly, “you wanna be good for me don’t you?”

Wade nods lazily, “Yes sir,” he sighs out, arching when Peter's hands work out a sore spot in his quad from the kickboxing he’d done earlier in the week. 

“You’re so strong sweetie, look at all this muscle,” Peter croons, thumbs pushing in hard to the swell of thigh just below his ass before sliding up and massaging the flesh there, eliciting a low moaned gasp from Wade at the touch. “That’s right baby, feels good, huh?” 

Wade nods, words elusive as he slips deeper into the pool of heat and comfort he associates with being in subspace. 

“Doing so good letting me make you feel good. You’re such a good boy Wade.”

He preens under the praise, moaning when Peter’s strong hands slide up his back, massaging the heavy knots in his back and shoulders, working him like a ball of dough till he’s loose limbed and melting into the sheets. 

The air is filled with the musky scent of his candles, the mix of juniper, amber, smoke and wood, heady and strong. He smiles softly, inhaling slowly as Peter continues to touch him. 

He feels…cared for. 

Safe. 

When Peter’s fingers work the nape of his neck and up over his scalp, something in him breaks and he begins to weep silently, fingers knotting in the sheets as he cries, relief washing through him like a tide washing the beach clean of the footprints of those who had been there before. 

Peter pauses when he hears Wade’s soft sniffles, hands falling still, and Wade sobs out a weak cry, rolling his head to try and get the stimulation back. “Don’t stop, please,  _ please  _ sir,” he begs, panic making his lungs feel raw for a moment before Peter hushes him gently.

“Tell me your color Wade,” he orders, hands remaining still on Wade’s skin till Wade stutters out  _ green _ and  _ please _ . 

“Good, thank you Wade, that’s good. Deep breath baby, you’re doing so well, I’m not gonna stop ok?”

Wade nods unsteadily, breathing harshly into the damp fabric of his covers, lips wet and parted around his slightly too fast breaths. 

“That’s it sweetheart, nice and slow breaths. You’re doing so good Wade, so good for me.”

It takes some time for Wade to calm, but Peter isn’t hurrying him, no, he just continues on massaging Wade’s body, working his way down Wade’s arms, paying close attention to each individual finger till Wade is calm and sweet again, sighing happily into his sheets. 

“That’s good baby, you’re doing so good,” Peter croons, touch lightening till it’s just his fingertips on the back of Wade’s scalp, drawing inane patterns on the skin, sending shivers down Wade’s spine. 

He shifts and gasps softly, suddenly realizing that he’s hard and has been for some time. Shifting again, he rolls his hips down into the mattress before flinching to a halt when he realizes Peter hasn’t given him permission to do so. 

Fingers trail down his spine and he can hear the smile in Peter’s voice when he speaks. “Very good Wade, look at you stopping yourself when you don’t have permission yet. What a good boy.”

Wade’s breath stutters at that, a glowing sense of pride in his chest at Peter’s kind words of praise. “Thank you sir,” he whispers hoarsely, shivering as Peter continues to draw patterns on his skin, skating closer and closer to his ass, till suddenly his finger is sliding slickly through the cleft, pausing to press gently at his hole. 

Gasping, his muscles jump and tense at the touch where he’s most sensitive and most desirous of having Peter’s touch. 

“You ready for me to open you up baby? Get my fingers inside you where you’re soft and warm and pink?”

Whining, Wade blushes furiously and presses his face hard into the mattress, nodding jerkily because  _ yes, yes  _ he wants that. 

“What do you want Wade? Use your words sweetie.”

Wade lets out a strangled whine and wiggles for a moment before turning his head so his lips aren’t pressed into the bed and speaks. “I want you to finger me open sir,  _ please _ .”

Fingers pet down the cleft of him, parting him so a puff of warm breath can be breathed against the pucker of his hole. He gasps Peter’s name, arching and rolling his hips, sweat beading between his shoulder blades. 

“Look how pretty it is baby, all soft and pink and fluttering. Bet you taste so sweet baby boy, don’t you?” Peter croons, finger tracing round and round, the sensation maddening. Wade rocks back, whining a wordless plea for more, the muscles of his legs trembling as he rocks, the drag of his cock against the sheets a pleasant burn. 

Peter slaps the back of his thigh gently, hand cupped just the right way to make it pop loudly without there being any real sting to the blow. “Lay still baby boy, I didn’t give you permission to rut that pretty cock into the sheets, now did I?” he murmurs, a hint of wry humor in his voice. 

Wade flushes and shakes his head, “I’m sorry sir,” he whispers, “I’ll be good,” he promises. 

Fingers brush against his scalp tenderly, “I know baby, you’re a very good boy, you just got a little eager, huh?” he questions teasingly, warm fondness in his voice. 

“Yes sir.”

“Hmm, well hold still for me, I need to wipe my hands off and get the lube.”

The weight of Peter’s body shifts, and Wade can hear him opening the container of baby wipes he’d brought with him, the soft rustle of it landing in his trash can a moment later. The pop of the lube bottle opening sets his nerves alight—he wants Peter’s fingers in him so badly it has him shaking with unfulfilled yearning. 

Peter taps the back of his thigh, “On your knees please,” he orders, hand caressing up and down the thick length of Wade’s thigh, keeping contact between them as Wade makes his way to his knees. 

“Perfect Wade, thank you.” 

A hand trails up his spine to cup the back of his head, “Look at you baby, so pretty like this. Spread your thighs for me a little, hmm? I want to see that pretty cock of yours.” 

Wade shudders, legs spreading without thought, and he’s so desperately aware of where his cock is hanging heavily between his legs, aching and leaking. A finger runs between his ass cheeks and then down the heavy swell of his balls before tracing the length of his cock delicately, swirling through the pre cum that’s beaded at the head before disappearing. 

“Look at me Wade.”

He lifts his head without question, turning a bleary gaze to Peter, watching as the younger man lifts the finger he’d used to wipe up Wade’s cum to his lips, gaze intense on Wade as he sucks it off and hums at the taste. 

Wade flushes a deep red and shudders as Peter smirks, “I knew you’d taste delicious Wade, you’re so perfect for me,” he murmurs in a husky voice that sends shivers over Wade’s body. Wade watches rapt, as Peter reaches out and swipes up another thick bead of pearlescent liquid before reaching out this time to Wade’s lips. 

“Open up baby,” Peter orders quietly, nodding his approval when Wade’s lips part easily, closing around the finger Peter pushes into his mouth and sucks on it eagerly, moaning at the salty taste of his own cum. 

Peter’s eyes are dark with lust, the gleam of possession there sending a shiver over Wade’s skin. “Look at you baby, so fuckin sweet for me, such a good boy,” he rasps, voice hoarse with desire. “I can’t wait to turn you inside out,” he whispers hotly, sliding a second finger in alongside the first for Wade to suck on. 

Wade moans, eyes falling shut in bliss as Peter’s fingers sink further into his mouth, quickly discovering Wade’s lack of gag reflex. He’s floating now, the heady weight of Peter’s fingers on his tongue reassuring, holding him in place and keeping him from flying away entirely. Drool slips out of the corner of his mouth and trails down his chin, but he can’t find it in himself to care, not when Peter’s free hand is petting gently up and down his thigh and he’s murmuring praise into Wade’s ear. 

“So good Wade, you look so pretty like this,” Peter tells him, pulling his fingers back till they slip out with a wet pop. “But you’ll look even prettier with my fingers inside you,” he croons, shifting back till he’s behind Wade and then those same slick fingers are pressing and rubbing at his hole, the maddeningly slick slide of them never pressing hard enough to breach him like he craves. 

A whine rises in his throat and he rocks back into Peter’s fingers, crying out weakly when Peter pulls them away quickly, leaving him bereft of touch entirely. 

“Huh-uh sweetie, no trying to force it. Be good and take what I give you,” Peter orders, voice firm and commanding and exactly what Wade needs to shudder back into stillness, panting wetly against the skin of his forearm as he presses his forehead down and waits. 

Peter lets him stay that way for long moments before his touch returns, this time with lube. “Let me hear you baby, make as much noise as you want,” he murmurs, pressing and rubbing at Wade’s hole, never sinking into him like Wade so desperately wants. 

The slick sound of it makes Wade’s gut clench needily, heat burning through his veins, cock twitching between his legs, eager for touch. He pants and moans, shivering with the effort it takes to hold still, but he has to be good for Peter, he  _ has  _ to. 

When Peter’s fingers sink into him, it’s without warning and all at once, down to the last knuckle. Wade chokes on a cry, chest heaving as he sobs and shudders, hole clenching around the intrusion. His rim burns faintly but in the best way—the heat of it rising in his belly, and he gasps out  _ please, please sir, more _ . 

“More? You just got two of my fingers baby, isn’t that good enough for you?” Peter asks lightly, twisting his hand so his fingers turn but don’t sink any deeper, and Wade’s thighs tremor as he pants and shakes his head, tongue heavy in his mouth as he tries to form words. 

“Please, please sir,” he slurs, breath catching on a broken sob, chest shuddering. “Need more, please.”

Peter hums thoughtfully and twists his fingers again, “What a needy little hole you have baby,” he murmurs, a soft huff of laughter in his voice. “You look so good with my fingers inside you Wade, my perfect slutty boy.”

Wade can’t help the whine that crawls out of his throat, the muscles of his back flexing as he works to stay still, tremors running through his thighs and arms as the heat under his skin grows. “Please sir,” he begs, hole clenching spasmodically around Peter’s fingers as they move, this time sliding back until the tips catch on the inside of Wade’s rim, tugging until Wade cries out, cock twitching and leaking. 

“That’s it Wade, let me hear how sweet you sound,” Peter encourages, “my sweetest slut, you need me so badly don’t you?” he whispers. 

Wade nods frantically, babbling out pleas for more, moans of Peter’s name, anything he can think of to get Peter to move his fingers from where they’re resting inside him, pulling at his rim so it stretches softly. 

“Color, Wade,” Peter murmurs. It takes a moment, but he’s able to pant out  _ green _ , earning himself the slick slide of Peter’s fingers inside him, pulling on his rim gently, scissoring it open with firm but gentle movements. 

“Good, very good Wade, you’re doing so well. You should see how pretty your hole looks baby, softening up and opening so nicely for me. You look like a pretty rose, blooming and pink.”

Wade blushes hard at that—he’s never thought his body could be described as something beautiful, but hearing Peter’s voice telling him these things makes it almost believable. 

“I think you can take another finger, don’t you?” Peter asks lightly, as though Wade’s answer is already known, and really, it is, because Wade is immediately begging for it, nodding and shaking as he tries not to rock back and just  _ take _ . A gasp strangles in his throat as Peter slides a third into him smoothly, the slick sound of it making Wade shudder and whine. 

“That’s it baby, just like that. You’re all nice and wet inside for me Wade, listen—” 

Peter’s fingers shove into him a little more forcefully, just so Wade can hear the slick sound of his hole squelching with lube, a shudder running over his spine at how deliciously filthy it sounds. He begs for more, tongue slurring in his mouth, Peter’s name dropping easily from his slick, bitten lips like a prayer. 

“That’s it Wade, just like that, you’re so good for me honey. I should take a picture of this and show you how nice you open up for me, how pretty your hole looks like this. You’ve got the sweetest ass Wade, I wish I could lick you open—maybe next time, huh?” Peter asks huskily, voice low and raspy with want. 

Wade’s eyes roll back in his head at the thought of that—of Peter’s mouth on him, licking him open. He sobs, fingers tightening where they’re wrapped around his forearms, clenching till it hurts as he tries to control his cries. He’s so lost now, swimming in the sea of Peter’s praise, of the sensation of his fingers inside him, of how  _ good _ everything feels. 

It’s been so long,  _ so long _ since he felt safe and cared for. He sobs a little, overwhelmed at the soft touch of Peter’s fingers on the nape of his neck, holding him still, the firm pressure keeping him tethered when all his body wants to do is fly away into the ether. 

Peter’s thumb strokes the column of Wade’s neck over and over again, sending shivers over his skin, heat turning his muscles lax as he moans wantonly, panting hard as Peter rubs inside him where he’s so tender and soft. It’s slow and insistent, the push pull of Peter’s fingers inside him, working him open, the gentle caress over his prostate like nirvana. 

Shivers wrack his body with every pass over his prostate, his breaths coming fast and heavy now, the slow build of pressure in his gut maddening. He shifts restlessly, rocking side to side and Peter’s fingers on his neck squeeze gently, pulling him to a halt. “What’s the matter baby? What’s your color Wade?” Peter asks firmly, fingers inside him pausing, eliciting a needy whine from deep in Wade’s chest. 

He licks his lips and swallows hard, trying to focus on what it is he needs to say. “‘S good,” he assures Peter, “‘m green. Jus...wan more.”

Peter chuckles low, the sound throaty and warm, hand leaving Wade’s neck to slide along the slick plane of Wade’s back, nails gently raking over the uneven skin before settling back at the nape of his neck. “I hear you baby, thank you for letting me know your color. We’re gonna go nice and slow for this first one, I want you to just focus on feeling good, okay? Can you do that for me Wade?”

Just focus on feeling good...he can do that, especially because Peter is already making him feel  _ so _ good. 

Nodding loosely, he shifts a little on his knees, eyes peeling open to look at the towel that Peter had asked him to lay down under him. Wet spots on the material make him flush, and as he’s looking, a thick bead of pre cum drips off the swollen, red head of his cock and down onto the towel. 

“You’re doing so good Wade, I’m gonna make such a mess of you sweetheart. Work your hole open nice and slow, milk that prostate for a few orgasms and then jerk you off till you’re coming so hard you cry.”

Wade moans out Peter’s name and  _ please _ and shivers yet again when Peter chuckles and pets his side soothingly before his fingers resume moving inside Wade’s body. 

It’s...a lot, thinking about having Peter inside him. 

Peter, who is lean and beautiful and sweet, touching inside him where he’s vulnerable and soft and warm. 

Wade’s eyes burn with unshed tears. His breath hiccoughs, chest spasming as Peter’s fingers press deeper till the push of his knuckles spreads Wade open that little bit further, and he wonders, wonders if maybe there is a next time, if they could try getting Peter’s whole hand in him. 

Peter’s fingers slide over his prostate, and Wade shudders, imagining what it would be like to be so full of Peter that he can barely breathe, so full that he doesn’t feel empty and alone anymore. A sob tears out of his chest and his cock twitches between his legs, spurting as he comes, entirely unexpected at that thought. 

“Oh honey, look at you, that’s so pretty,” Peter croons, fingers still moving within Wade, relentless and smooth, the grip on Wade’s neck tightening for a moment, and his cock twitches again, spurts a little more before dribbling to an end. 

His balls still feel heavy and tight, and he sobs in relief—he had worried he wouldn’t be able to achieve even one orgasm, but now he knows, with Peter touching him, he’s going to come as many times as the younger man wants and the thought of that is comforting and warm, settling over him like a weighted blanket. 

“Good boy Wade, you sound so pretty when you come,” Peter murmurs, “lets see if we can get another out of you, huh?” and he asks it like Wade will object, or say no, or  _ something _ , but the only thing Wade wants is  _ more _ .

He babbles out pleas for more, nails biting into the skin of his forearms, half sobs hitching in his throat, reduced to nothing more than a shivering, whining mess. The voices that have plagued him for so long are blissfully silent, and he trembles at the knowledge that he’s safe here with Peter, safe from the violence and rage and self loathing that makes his every waking moment hell. 

“What are you thanking me for baby? Hmm?” Peter asks gently, twisting his fingers and spreading them wide till they’re stretching out his hole, the burn of it making him gasp wetly. “Tell me Wade, why are you saying thank you?”

Wade sobs when Peter’s fingers press harder on his rim, opening him up so he’s exposed, vulnerable. 

“Cuz…’m safe...with you,” he manages to get out. “Voices...gone…’m safe,” he whimpers, “Safe...sir...safe.” 

There’s a stutter in Peter’s movement before his fingers resume their insistent press inside him, and then a set of lips press to the small of his back, and Wade tremors so hard at the affection that his body sways, and Peter has to release his neck to slide his arm under Wade’s hips to keep him upright. 

“Color, Wade, tell me.”

Peter’s voice is firm, commanding and Wade sobs out  _ green _ and then  _ please _ and Peter is kissing the small of his back again, murmuring praise, the words brushing against his skin as Peter’s fingers push into him. He comes again, leaking slowly down to pool on the towel below him. 

“That’s right baby, you’re safe. I won’t hurt you. My good boy, you’re so sweet for me,” Peter croons, lips brushing against Wade’s skin with each word, and Wade sinks deeper into the blissful heat of Peter’s words and touch. 

He’s never ever felt this good, and it leaves him weak, gasping for breath, shaking as Peter strokes inside him, slow and steady and perfect. He doesn’t know how much time has passed at this point; it could have been ten minutes or three hours. All he cares about is that Peter is still touching him. 

“So good Wade. You’re so perfect for me sweetie, look how good you are, coming for me like that. Does it feel good baby?”

Wade nods frantically, sobbing out  _ yes sir, please sir, more _ . 

“That’s my sweet, polite boy. So good,” Peter whispers, hand rubbing over the taut expanse of Wade’s stomach, cheek resting on the small of Wade’s back so his words and hot breath wash over his sensitive skin. 

The wet squish of Peter’s fingers inside him is like white noise, soothing in the knowledge that it means Peter hasn’t left him, that he’s still inside Wade, making him  _ feel _ . And  _ oh _ how he feels. His nerve endings sing with pleasure, with euphoria, and he flies on it, high in the sky, held securely in Peter’s touch. 

“Gonna give you another finger Wade, can you take four baby?”

He nods frantically and pushes his hips back once before whining and stilling, thighs shaking with the effort. 

“That’s good baby, so good,” Peter croons, pressing another kiss to the scarred skin of his hip. 

Peter’s fingers slide back and rest at the very entrance of his hole for a moment before the press of his pinkie stretches Wade just that little bit more. He groans deeply, teeth closing on the flesh of his forearm as Peter spreads them inside him. 

“Oh god baby,  _ look how pretty _ ,” Peter whispers, voice raw and low. “You’re perfect Wade, like you were made to take me.”

Tears leak out of Wade’s eyes, rolling down his cheek at that—he’s so overwhelmed and it’s perfect. He  _ wants _ so much, so badly, to be perfect for someone, to earn praise and affection and to hear someone as perfect and beautiful as Peter saying that about him…

He’s utterly gone. 

“C’mon Wade, fuck yourself back on my fingers,” Peter orders, “lemme see you move.”

With a gasp of relief, Wade starts rolling his hips back, gasping as Peter’s fingers sink into him, twisting each time Wade thrusts back so it’s never the same sensation twice. They rub over his prostate more often than not and his cock twitches eagerly, leaking heavily. 

His eyes flutter open to watch as his cock sways and leaks, a low moan in his throat at the sight. Peter’s lips press to Wade’s hip again, warm and gentle, and Wade’s eyes slide shut in bliss. “That’s it baby, just like that,” Peter whispers, “god, you’re so pretty when you move like that.”

Wade tastes salt and realizes distantly he must be crying again, but it’s not even within his grasp to care about it; all he knows is that he’s swimming in bliss, that he’s making Peter happy, that he’s being  _ good _ . 

“I want you to come one more time like this Wade, and then I’m gonna stroke your cock, do you understand me?” 

He nods jerkily, moaning and thrusting back harder, sobbing at the  _ sogoodnotenough _ feeling in his gut, a sob of  _ more _ on his lips over and over again. 

“So needy huh baby? You’re such a good little slut for me, aren’t you?”

_ Yes, for you _ he gasps,  _ Peterpleasepleasepleasesir _

“So pretty when you beg baby, my perfect boy. Bet you’d sound even prettier with my cock inside you,” Peter growls, and Wade gasps loudly at the sensation of teeth nipping at his ass. “Color, Wade?” Peter immediately checks in, twisting his wrist to make his knuckles rub against Wade’s rim. 

_ Greengreengreen sir! Again! More! Please! _

“More? You want more of my teeth?” Peter asks, a note of taunting in his voice, “You like me marking you?” 

_ Oh god yes, _ Wade loves it, and he sobs out his agreement, thrusting back hard and fast as he chases sensation, the slick sloppy sound of his hole growing louder with each thrust. 

Peter’s teeth close around the flesh at Wade’s hip, biting down harder than before with a low growl of  _ mine, _ and it pushes Wade over the edge, shaking and crying out as he comes again, cock spurting and twitching. He sobs for breath, chest heaving, then cries out louder when Peter’s hand slides down his belly and envelopes his cock. 

“That’s it baby, one last one for me,” Peter orders, licking over the spot where he’s bitten Wade, hand stroking hard and fast along Wade’s cock, milking him as the fingers inside him press hard into his prostate. 

Tears roll freely down Wade’s cheeks as he thrusts back and then rolls his hips down, fucking his cock into Peter’s hand, the sensations entirely overwhelming. His skin feels too tight, his body unable to contain the pleasure that’s growing and growing inside him, and he never wants it to end, wants to feel like this  _ always _ . 

“Come for me Wade, that’s my good boy, so beautiful when you come, let me hear you.” 

Peter’s voice is the only thing he can hear; his throat is hoarse, so he must be crying out loudly, but the only thing he knows is Peter’s touch, his voice, the weight of his body against Wade’s...it’s all just  _ Peter _ . 

He’s so close, thighs trembling, the pressure in his gut aching to explode and moments later, Peter presses a wet and hasty kiss to the sweaty expanse of his spine and whispers, “Say my name when you come baby, say my name,” and he  _ does _ . 

He screams it, in fact, shaking as he comes, Peter’s hand on his cock and his fingers inside him not slowing an iota. Shudders pass over his body one after the other, like waves crashing into the shore, knocking his (metaphorical) feet out from under him. 

Wade chants Peter’s name, his sole focus now, wet heaving gasps of it falling from his lips. 

When his cock twitches and has nothing left to give, Peter’s hand slows, one last passing thumb stroke over the sensitive head a sharp shard of pained pleasure that makes Wade tremor and whine. The fingers inside him slow and pull back till they’re resting lightly against Wade’s rim, a comforting weight as he floats on a warm tide of pleasure. 

“So good Wade, you did so good,” Peter murmurs, hand leaving Wade’s cock to rub gently at his belly, “You were phenomenal baby, so good.” Lips press to Wade’s spine again and he shivers, Peter’s name on his lips barely a whisper. “What’s your color, baby?” Peter asks gently, “how you doing?”

Wade shivers and nods, “Green,” he manages, the word mangled but still obvious. 

“Good, that’s good baby. I’m gonna pull my fingers out of you, okay?” Peter asks quietly, free hand still rubbing at Wade’s belly, soothing and warm. 

“Yea…”

Still, Wade whines when Peter’s fingers slip out of him, the empty feeling leaving him shuddering for a moment before Peter squeezes his hip and brushes his lips against Wade’s ass cheek. 

“Good boy. I want you to stay like that while I clean you up,” Peter murmurs. Wade nods tiredly, panting hard as Peter shifts and pulls away. He mostly strangles a whine at the loss of contact, but Peter must hear something because his fingers brush lightly over Wade’s sweaty back and his voice rings out closely—“I’m right here baby, I’m not leaving you.”

Wade nods and tries to focus on slowing his breathing, the occasional touch of Peter’s fingers on his skin soothing as the other man pulls the towel out from under him and uses it to wipe the lube from Wade’s hole before folding it and patting down his back, wicking away the sweat so it doesn’t chill him as he cools down. 

He hears Peter wiping off his hands—smells the wipes he uses—and then Peter is back, hands on Wade’s hips, gently guiding him over and onto his side so his head is laying on a cool, fresh pillow. His lashes feel sticky, but his eyes flutter open to find Peter smiling softly at him as he pulls the covers out from under Wade, gently maneuvering his body till he’s wrapped in comforting warmth. 

Peter shifts beside him, under the covers too, and opens his arms, “Come cuddle with me darling,” he croons encouragingly, and Wade’s in his arms in a moment, huffing happily when Peter slumps down and uses a hand on the back of Wade’s head to guide his face into the crook of Peter’s throat. 

Slim fingers stroke over his scalp, down his neck and across his shoulders as Peter hums softly, something tuneless and comforting. 

“How are you feeling sweetie?” Peter asks softly, the soft beat of his heart barely audible in Wade’s ear pressed to his sternum. 

“Good,” he slurs tiredly, nuzzling into Peter’s throat as the younger man rubs his back. 

“That’s good baby, I’m so glad you’re feeling good. You were incredible Wade, absolutely amazing for me,” he murmurs and Wade can hear the smile in his voice, pride warming his chest till he wriggles and presses his face into Peter’s skin, happy embarrassment making him squirm. 

They stay that way till Wade is slack and exhausted, breathing slow and steady. Peter caresses the back of his head gently, voice a low murmur in the soft light, “Wade, honey? You didn’t specify that you want an overnight stay, if you do that’s fine—I’d be so happy to stay with you, it’ll just be extra.”

It takes a moment for him to realize what Peter is talking about, and a cold slice of reality shatters the quiet moment. Peter must feel him stiffen because he automatically holds Wade a little tighter, hushing him before he has a chance to say anything. 

“It’s ok Wade, you’re safe,” he whispers, “If you want me to stay with you, just ask.”

Does he want Peter to stay?

**_YES,_ ** screams a voice in his head that’s not one of the voices who torment him—yes, Wade wants him to stay, but he doesn’t know if that’ll make it that much harder for him when Peter inevitably leaves in the morning. 

He worries at his bottom lip and inhales the comforting scent of Peter’s skin, hand tightening on Peter’s hip where he’s been holding on, thumb under the hem of his shirt, stroking the soft skin.

“Wade, honey?”

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. 

“Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say in the comments!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!
> 
> Edit 6/1/20: Hi folks, there is a user leaving comments that are rude, inflammatory, and vicious and I’d ask that you don’t engage with them. Please don’t feed the trolls! Thank you for reading, I appreciate you so much for being kind and respectful in your interactions with this fic and myself.


	2. Chapter 2

Wade wipes down the edge of his knife, the blood soaking into the hem of his shirt and turning it dark. He can smell the copper from the body at his feet, a man he’d been hired to kill by the mother of the young girl he’d kidnapped, raped, and murdered. The police and prosecutors had fucked up—hadn’t mirandized him properly, screwed the pooch on the chain of evidence...so Wade stepped in where justice failed and gave the woman something like closure. 

This one Wade did for free.

People who hurt kids...Wade enjoyed taking them out of this world so their poison couldn’t spread and cause any more damage than it already had. 

He nudges the body with his boot, pushing till the man rolls over onto his stomach, the wet, heavy thump of it sickening. Wade’s already searched the house and computer and found all the evidence of the man’s crimes that the police had missed. He leaves it out for them to find. 

Lighting a match, he holds it up and ignites the cigarette clenched between his teeth, inhaling the nicotine before exhaling a cloud of grey around his head. 

He tosses the match into the trash can outside the front door and smirks darkly when the contents catch fire. 

The fire should draw enough attention for someone to call the cops. 

If not, all the screaming the man did should do it. 

* * *

  
It’s been three months since he saw Peter and he’s thought about that night and the next morning every single one of the days since. 

He’d forgotten what it felt like to fall asleep in someone’s arms, feeling warm and safe and cared for. 

The night he’d stayed, Peter had stripped off his shirt and jeans so he was more comfortable, and the skin to skin contact had prolonged Wade’s stay in subspace—his skin soft and sweet against Wade’s, warm and comforting in a way it had no right to be for someone he’d just met. 

But Peter had stayed and they’d talked for awhile before Wade eventually succumbed to the warm heavy weight in his body that came from multiple orgasms and subspace. 

When he’d woken up, Peter had already been up and showered, and when Wade stumbled out into his kitchen, he’d found the younger man barefoot and humming, flipping pancakes like it was ordinary, like he did it every day for Wade. 

His gut had clenched at the sight, and the voices had crowed about how weak he was for wanting what he couldn’t have, for  _ hoping _ . 

Because he  _ had _ hoped.

He had seen Peter, bathed in warm sunlight, smiling at Wade like he was happy to see him, and Wade had stupidly, foolishly,  _ hoped _ . 

They’d eaten breakfast together and talked about the scene a little. Peter had made it clear that he’d be open to seeing Wade again and left him with a business card and a phone number that he’d encouraged Wade to use. 

He’d even kissed Wade’s cheek before he left and smiled softly at him like he actually liked Wade and so, like an idiot, Wade hoped. 

He daydreamed about Peter staying, about what it would be like if it was real and the voices had tortured him with hellish visions of his hands mutilating Peter till there was nothing left recognizable as the beautiful young man. 

So he threw himself into his work, took job after job—hunting down cheating spouses and digging up evidence for divorces and finding missing people—and killing a few, too, for those who were discreet and willing to pay. 

But now his nightmares have returned and his skin feels too small for his frame. He’s at the end of his rope. All his efforts to drown out the voices and kill the hope in his heart have failed, and he’s just as lonely as he ever was. 

Maybe  _ more _ now that he knows what it feels like to be happy. 

**_Stupid fucking idiot, no one could ever love you_ **

_ Yea, you’re a killer and a monster! They’d run screaming if they ever knew the real you!  _

Growling, he rubs a knuckle between his brows, trying to chase the pain and anxiety and self loathing away for even a moment so he can just fucking  _ breathe _ . 

**_No one needs you Wade, you’re a waste of oxygen_ **

_ C’mon Wade, give that gun a kiss, tangle tonsils with a bullet baby!  _

Cursing, he rises to his feet and paces around his house, chest too tight and head throbbing. 

He needs it to stop. 

He needs…

Peter. 

It takes another thirty minutes of pacing before he decides to put in a request for the young man, fingers shaking as he dials the number Peter had given him so long ago. 

It rings a few times and then connects. 

“This is Peter.”

He opens his mouth and freezes, unsure of everything, too scared to even breathe. 

There’s a moment of silence and then Peter murmurs, “Wade?” and Wade’s heart lurches to life in his chest. 

He gasps and fills his lungs and makes some sort of affirmative sound and somehow he can hear Peter smiling when he responds. 

“Hey hon, it’s so good to hear from you. I’ve been thinking about you and hoping you’d call!”

_ Yea right! What a liar!  _

**_Even if he is telling the truth, he’s still just a whore—all he wants is money._ **

_ He’d never actually want you, you freak!  _

**_No one could_ **

Wade whines low in his throat, scrambling into his bedroom, tripping over his feet as he sinks to the ground, tucking himself into the dark corner of his closet, a hand pressing to his face as he tries to breathe normally. 

“You sound upset baby, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, he chokes out a  _ no,  _ and Peter hums thoughtfully. 

“Okay sweetheart, why don’t you take some nice slow breaths for me okay? Can you do that?”

He nods and inhales raggedly, lips wet from being chewed on and tries to follow along as Peter counts for him— _ inhale for four Wade, good. Now hold it for four, and then exhale for four.  _

It’s reminiscent of his time in the military—they’d used a similar breathing technique to induce sleep in combat zones and as it did then, it works now to calm him down enough that when Peter asks for his color he immediately responds with yellow. 

“That’s good Wade, thank you honey. Are you ready to talk to me yet about what’s wrong?”

A negative sound slips out of him, and Peter hums softly, “That’s ok baby, why don’t I talk to you till you’re feeling ready?” he suggests. Wade hums in agreement. Peter’s voice is warm with a smile as he speaks. 

“Ok. Well, let’s see. I adopted a cat a few days after I saw you—I found her hiding in an alley, covered in garbage and dirt and took her to the vet to check her out. She was so sick, poor thing—she needed lots of shots and medicine to help treat the parasites she had, and a special bath for the fleas. 

Oh, and I had to get her chipped and fixed, and then finally she was ready to come home with me! She’s so cute Wade—so little! The vet says that she’s probably a year old, but she’s tiny and sleek and pretty. She has these blue eyes that remind me of yours—and the prettiest calico fur! 

You’d love her Wade, I mean unless you’re allergic, but still! She’s so sweet—when I get home she curls up in my lap and just purrs and purrs and purrs.”

Wade’s breathing is slow now, steady, and he leans heavily against the wall, a tiny smile on his lips as Peter talks about his cat—Minnie,  _ after Minerva McGonagal from Harry Potter!  _ Peter tells him eagerly. 

When he laughs softly, it takes both of them by surprise, and Peter pauses. “That’s a lovely sound Wade, it’s so nice to hear you laugh.”

He’s blushing, of course, but he manages a  _ thank you _ , and then clears his throat. “I’m uh, I’m sorry about that,” he murmurs with a wince, “I wanted to ask if you’re available tonight, but I doubt you want to spend any more time with a freak like me,” he mutters, pushing the heel of his hand into his eye sockets till they blaze with color.

“Wade, my rule about speaking negatively about yourself is still in effect even when we aren’t together. Ok?”

He nods and then murmurs  _ ok _ , flushing when Peter calls him a good boy, the tension in his chest easing slightly so it feels less painful to breathe than it did before. 

“Now, as to your question, yes, I am free tonight. If you’d like we can go over what you’re looking for from our time together now on the phone, or you can submit a request online.”

Wade’s breath catches, “N-now,” he stutters—he doesn’t want to lose the sense of peace that surrounds him when he hears Peter’s voice. 

“Ok darling, I already know your soft and hard limits, so why don’t you tell me what you’d like tonight.”

It feels...erotic, almost, telling Peter what he wants while he’s hidden away in the dark. Like it’s a secret or something, just for the two of them. He takes a slow, shuddery breath and lets some of the tension in his shoulders ease, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips when he hears a cat meowing in the background.

“‘S that Minnie?” he guesses.

“It is, she’s demanding attention,” Peter says with a soft warm laugh, affection in his voice.  _ C’mere Minnie, come here sweetie, _ Peter murmurs and then Wade hears a loud purring over the line and his smile blooms wider and brighter. 

“Say hello to Wade, Minnie!”

Minnie mmmrrrp’s loudly, and Wade laughs for the first time in….god he can’t even remember the last time and how sad is  _ that _ ? 

“Hi Minnie,” he responds dutifully, smiling when she meows again, his chest warming when Peter laughs and makes kissy noises. This kid is so fuckin sweet it breaks Wade’s goddamn heart, makes him wonder how someone so pure and kind wound up working as an escort, dealing with disgusting shitbags like himself. 

“So, how you feeling Wade? You ready to tell me what you want?” Peter asks softly, the gentle purring of Minnie in the background soothing, like white noise. Wade kinda wishes he had a cat—he misses the one he had as a kid, smiles when he thinks about how he’d press his face gently into his belly and listen to him purr.

“Yea,” he sighs, “I’m ready.”

Still, he takes a moment to just listen to Minnie purr, enjoying the familiar sound. 

Sighing softly, he smiles a little sadly and gathers his thoughts before speaking. 

“I uh, I’d like for you to r-rim me,” he whispers, cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “and finger me too.”

Peter hums softly, “That sounds lovely Wade, you made such pretty noises last time when I fingered you, I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when I’m tasting you.” 

_ Christ! _

Wade swallows hard, head falling back against the wall with a dull thud, gut heating at the image those words create in his mind. 

“Y-yea,” he stutters out, “I-I like that,” he admits, hating the way he struggles to remain calm. Peter makes it so easy to submit, so easy to ask for what he wants, and god, Wade wants it all. 

“Do you?” Peter asks teasingly, voice pitching lower and Wade bites his lip, a fine tremor running over his body at the heated implication of those words. 

He nods, head rolling against the wall, “I do. I like how you make me feel. Feels good.”

“That’s good baby, I want you to feel good. You were amazing last time, letting me take care of you; you gonna do that again?”

He nods again and makes a sound of affirmation, and Peter chuckles softly, “Okay sweetheart, anything else you want?”

_ This _ , this is where it gets harder. Because what Wade wants is probably normal for Peter, but what comes after is...less common perhaps. 

He swallows hard against the nervous lump in his throat a few times and closes his eyes—like maybe if he can’t see anything, it won’t be embarrassing as all hell to ask for it. 

“I want you to fuck me without a condom, come inside me, and then fist me. I wanna come on your cock and then with your hand inside me,” he blurts out, chewing nervously on his bottom lip when Peter doesn’t respond right away. 

Peter makes a low, interested sound and then laughs softly, “Damn honey, you’ve got me all worked up hearing that. Jesus Wade, I can’t wait to see your hole take my cock. Fuck, you’re gonna look so good getting fucked by my fist, bet you’ll make the sweetest sounds too, won’t you baby?”

Wade whines, panting softly as he shifts, the throb of heat in his gut blooming and the fit of his jeans growing tight as his cock swells, demanding attention. 

“Yea, you’re gonna be so good for me baby, gonna take what I give you. I can’t wait to see your pretty hole stretched out and loose, see your ass leaking my come. Should take a picture of it and frame it for my wall.”

Wade chokes out a whine, gasping “ _ Peter _ ,” as shock and arousal pour through his veins. 

Peter laughs low, pleased, “You better hang up and go start prepping baby, get that pretty hole ready for me,” he murmurs teasingly, “I’m gonna eat it out like it’s a four course meal baby.”

And _yea_ , **_that_** has Wade groaning, shoving the heel of his palm onto his cock, breath hitching at the throbbing need in his gut. “ _Peter!”_ he gasps, hips rolling up into the aching throb, chasing the sensation. 

“You need it bad, huh baby?” Peter croons, “you want me to tell you how I can’t wait to fuck you? Hmm? I can’t Wade, you make the sweetest sounds—I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when I’m balls deep inside you, turning you inside out.”

Wade groans and strokes his cock through his pants, wincing slightly at the friction burn and then gasping at the rub of the fabric against his sensitive head. “Fuck, Peter, please,” he pants, rubbing harder, “I need it.”

“Yea you do baby, I know,  _ shit _ ,” Peter curses, and Wade inhales sharply when he hears the wet sound of a hand stroking flesh and just the knowledge that Peter is getting off on this too is enough to make him shudder, heat pouring through his veins. 

“Shit Wade, I wanna lick you open and make you come on my tongue,” he pants, “Lick you till you’re slick and begging me for more. You beg so pretty baby, c’mon Wade, lemme hear it.”

“Please, sir, I want it,” Wade answers automatically, grip tight on his cock, the fabric of his pants pushed aside so he can stroke, skin to skin. “Oh fuck Peter, I need you,” he gasps, “need you sir.”

“I know baby, you need me to make you feel good. Shit, Wade, are you dressed?”

“Y-yea.”

“Push your shirt up and play with your pretty tits baby, be a good boy for me.”

Wade whines loudly and shoves a shaky hand up his shirt, moaning when his thumb and forefinger close around one nipple, pinching gently and rolling it, the jolt of heat through his body making his cock twitch. 

“Fuck baby, you sound so  _ good _ . Tell me Wade, does it feel good?”

He nods and swallows hard, still playing with one of his nipples as he strokes his leaking cock, “Y-Yea, sir, it feels...feels so good,” he gasps, hips starting to fuck up into his hand, the slick slide of his cock leaving him dizzy. 

“That’s right it does baby. I know just what your body needs. Keep playing with those pretty tits baby,” Peter orders him, voice growing hoarse. Wade can hear his hand picking up speed, the slick sound of it making his gut heat, the pressure within his body growing. 

“Yes sir,” he pants, head falling back against the wall as he writhes, hips jolting with every twist of his wrist on the upstroke, a loud gasp falling from his lips as he switches to the other nipple, the jolt of pleasure sharp and delicious. 

“Fuck Wade, you sound so good,” Peter groans, “wish I could see you, wish I could get my hands and mouth on you, touch you everywhere, make you feel so good.”

Wade whines, unable to speak, panting heavily as his balls draw tight, heavy and aching with the urge to come. “Please,  _ please sir _ ,” he manages to gasp, lips wet from being bitten, entire body twitching lightly as he rushes toward release, hand slowing because he’s not sure if he’s allowed. 

“Please, sir, wanna come!”

“That’s my good boy, asking for permission, so good Wade,” Peter pants, the wet slide of his hand speeding up in response to Wade’s request. “Yea baby, you can come. Keep playing with those pretty tits of yours,” he orders, grunting and gasping. 

Wade lets out a soft sob of relief and nods, pinching hard on his right nipple,  _ Peter, _ slipping past his lips as he strokes hard and fast, head thumping back hard on the wall as he rockets toward release. The pressure in his belly builds till he thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t get some kind of relief and then he’s coming, with a twist of his wrist at the head of his cock and a sharp pinch to his left nipple. 

He shoots all over his chest, staining his shirt, but he can’t care about that now, not when he can barely breathe let alone think.  _ Peter Peter Peter  _ he gasps, breath hitching as he slows his strokes, cheek pressed hard into the wall, hot breath misting on the surface as he swims through a hazy river of pleasure. 

“Ah!  _ Fuck _ Wade, yea!”

Peter calls his name as he comes, cursing and moaning over the line, and Wade moans in reply, cock giving one last twitch, cum dribbling over his knuckles, hot and wet. He pants heavily, throat dry and lids too heavy to lift for the moment as Peter breathes heavily on the line. 

“Shit, baby…”

Peter laughs weakly, sounding just as wrecked as Wade feels, and something in his chest lurches at the sound. 

“Goddamn Wade, that was incredible,” Peter murmurs softly, “God, this was  _ so  _ good, this one is on the house baby, you were so  _ hot _ ,” he groans, voice low and warm and almost...fond? Something about it makes Wade’s stomach lurch, dangerous hope filling him once again. 

_ You’re so fucking pathetic, desperate for any crumbs of affection that you’ll take anything—even if it’s from a dirty whore! _

**_I bet you he went home last time and showered till his skin was raw from having to touch us._ **

_ I would, have you SEEN us?? _

**_And now this freak wants him to FIST us? He’ll have to cut it off when he’s done!_ **

Wade groans and thumps his head heavily against the wall, “Shut  _ up _ ,” he growls, forgetting he’s on the phone with Peter. 

“Wade? Did I say the wrong thing?” Peter asks, sounding confused and worried. 

Cursing silently as the voices crow about his idiocy, he swallows hard and wipes the cum on his hand off onto his shirt. “No,” he replies slowly, trying to figure out how to say this without sounding...well, crazy. “I have...PTSD and brain trauma and I hear voices,” he blurts out, gut wrenching at the reveal of such personal information. 

Peter makes a sound like he’s curious, “Oh, well, I mean that makes sense—I mean, it makes sense why you don’t like pain during sex. If the trauma was pain related and related to your scars, yea, I get that,” he says, sounding like he’s worked out a particularly hard puzzle. “Why don’t we talk about this more when I’m there tonight?” he suggests, “I’d like to have this conversation face to face if that’s ok with you.”

Wade ponders it for a long time, sitting in silence as the voices argue until he’s sure of his answer. 

“I don’t want to ruin our night,” he murmurs, “if we talk about it for too long, I might have an episode. I’ll tell you what I’m comfortable with when you’re here, but no more than that.”

Peter hums and then agrees, “Okay Wade, I can do that, thank you for telling me your limits. I appreciate your honesty,” he says, sounding like he’s actually appreciative, like he actually  _ cares _ . 

**_You think he cares? Fool!_ **

_ The only thing he cares about is making money. No one cares about you, Wade.  _

Wade shudders and rubs a hand over his face, mouth twisting at the smell of cum on his hand. 

He needs a fucking shower. 

“I’ll see you at 6?” he asks instead of responding to what Peter has said. 

“At 6,” Peter agrees, a smile in his voice. 

Wade nods, even though Peter can’t see it and smiles faintly, “See you then,” he whispers. 

“See you soon.”

The call ends, and Wade is left in the dark of the closet, with cum cooling on his skin, his only company the voices in his head. Swallowing hard, he leans his head back against the wall and sighs heavily, chest feeling hollowed out and empty. 

* * *

  
Wade shifts on the couch, waiting for Peter, anticipation filling him. The voices have been relentless all fucking day, and he’d finally grown tired of it and taken edibles and smoked, the tension leaving his body slowly as the voices faded into obscurity. He’s taken the time to massage lotion into his skin so he’s as soft as he’s going to be—if Peter is going to fuck him, he wants his body to be as appealing as he can make it.

He knows that’s like trying to put lipstick on a pig, but for some twisted reason, he wants Peter to enjoy this if he can. He wants Peter to be proud of him, to praise him. He knows it's fucked up, wanting an escort to give a damn about him, but he’s weak and desperate for affection, however he can get it. 

There’s a knock at the door, and he rushes to his feet, bare soles scuffing against the floor as he hurries to open it, stilling when he sees Peter on the other side, dressed in tight jeans and a cotton henley that clings to every muscle Wade didn’t realize he had. 

Fuck...he’s  _ hot _ . 

Peter smirks, “Thanks Wade, you’re pretty fine yourself,” he murmurs. Wade panics a little when he realizes he’s said that out loud, but then Peter is stepping close to smile up at Wade, chin tilted adorably, and Wade is possessed with the urge to kiss him, so strong that he shudders with it, aching to take Peter into his arms and embrace him. 

Instead of giving in, he steps back and makes room for Peter, watching as the younger man sets down the same black duffle bag he’d brought last time. He watches as Peter sits on the couch and turns to look at Wade, eyes soft in the low light, hair falling over his brow gently, looking deliciously comfortable in Wade’s home. 

Like he belongs there. 

Swallowing hard, Wade shuffles over and hesitates for a moment before kneeling at Peter’s feet, head bowed as Peter studies him. He can feel the weight of Peter’s gaze on him and only shudders a little when Peter’s fingers brush over his scalp gently. 

“You look so good kneeling for me Wade. You’re so big and strong and elegant.” His fingers trace gently over Wade’s scalp and then down the curve of his brow, one finger tracing over the bridge of his nose, thumb brushing the delicate skin of his eyelid, caressing the curve of his cheekbone, swiping over the plush of his lips, and then it’s lifting his chin, tilting his face up so he can meet Peter’s gaze. 

“There you are,” Peter croons, smiling softly. “I can see those pretty blue eyes of yours,” he murmurs. “We already have the basics of what’s going to happen tonight down Wade, but you mentioned you wanted to tell me about what caused some of your trauma. Do you still want to do that?” 

Wade nods slowly and shuffles a little closer till his chest is pressing into Peter’s knees. Just that little bit of contact is enough to make him feel grounded and safe. Peter’s hand slides down and back, coming to rest on the nape of Wade’s neck and his lids flutter at the comforting weight of it. 

Somehow, Peter knows exactly what it is he needs without him even having to ask, and in that moment, Wade adores him just a little bit more. 

Licking his lips, he takes a deep breath and then begins. 

“I was born in Canada and ran away from home at 16, came to America and lied my way into the military. I was special ops, and I was sent on black ops for the CIA. There was a man who ran our group, Ajax. He was cruel and violent and brought out the worst in all of us with his tactics. If we didn’t do the mission right or if something went wrong, he would punish us, hurt us. We were on a mission, and he wanted me to kill kids, innocent fucking babies,” he curses, spitting out the bitter words. 

“I refused, and he did it himself in front of me, and then when we got back to base, he beat the shit out of me probably thinking it would make me obey on the next mission. But a few of the other guys were ready to fight back, and when it came down to it, we turned on him.”

He pauses, breathing shakily, the smell of blood and gunpowder heavy in his nose, laying thick on his tongue. 

“The men who were loyal to him protected him, and then it was just him and I. We fought. I started a fire in the compound we were raiding and he shot me, three times. Thought he killed me. Didn’t quite finish the job though.”

He can’t look at Peter for this next part.

“I was gonna die anyway, so I popped the pin on a string of grenades and threw them at him. They took out a few tanks of oxygen when they went, and the building collapsed, trapping me there while I burned. I woke up two days later in a hospital in Germany and spent the next year insane from the pain.”

He tastes bile in the back of his throat and swallows hard, pushing his brow into Peter’s knee, breathing heavily, the weight of memories threatening to consume him. Peter’s hand covers his scalp, and he can feel it when the younger man shifts and bows over him, the light behind his closed lids changing, darkening. 

Peter’s other hand covers the nape of his neck again and then a set of lips press to his skin, and he jolts, gasping at the unexpected touch. 

“I’m so sorry Wade,” Peter whispers, voice thick and wet, “god, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Wade’s breathing hitches, and Peter’s hand on his neck tightens, “C’mere baby, let me see you,” he whispers, and Wade doesn’t fight him when he guides Wade’s face up. His lashes are wet when he opens his eyes to find Peter looking at him, gaze sorrowful and pained, and Wade loathes himself a little (a lot) for putting that look in his eyes. 

Peter’s thumb caresses under his eye gently, wiping away the wetness that has fallen there. “Can I kiss you Wade?” he asks softly, and Wade’s eyes widen in surprise.  _ That’s  _ not the reaction he was expecting. 

He nods though because he’s a needy bitch and tilts his chin up a little in anticipation, lips parting softly as Peter smiles sadly and leans down, his breath warm and minty on Wade’s face before their lips meet and Wade melts. 

Peter kisses like he does everything else, with firm determination and gentle authority that makes Wade weak. Peter’s hand at the nape of his neck holds him steady, the thumb stroking the column of Wade’s neck as his lips move against Wade’s gently. He doesn’t use much tongue which Wade appreciates—he’s never much cared for having something in his mouth that feels like a slimy eel. 

Teeth nip gently at his lower lip, and he moans softly, arching up, a soft sigh passing his lips as Peter does it again and then flicks his tongue against the achy spot. 

“C’mere,” Peter murmurs against his mouth, “I want you in my lap.”

Wade nods but worries that he’s too heavy, too big for someone as slim as Peter. Peter tugs at his neck and that’s that—Wade slides up and straddles Peter’s lap, sighing happily when Peter kisses him again, one hand at the small of his back, the other on his neck, holding him firmly in place. 

Heat melts down Wade’s spine as Peter kisses him, thoroughly, breathlessly, until he’s sure he’s going to float away on the sheer pleasure of being touched and kissed so gently. Peter’s tongue flicks gently at the curve of his top lip, and Wade can feel the smile on his lips when he gasps in pleasure—and Peter does it again, fingertips pressing harder into the small of Wade’s back. 

Rolling his hips slowly, Wade groans softly at the warmth that builds in his gut when Peter meets his motion, their cocks grinding together slowly. It shudders through him—the knowledge that Peter is hard from this, from kissing  _ him _ . 

Peter’s fingers at the small of his back trace nonsensical patterns on his skin as he kisses him, seemingly happy to stay right where he is, turning Wade into a trembling mass of muscle and bone. 

“You taste so good baby,” Peter breathes against his mouth, doing that thing with his tongue that makes Wade tremble, “I could do this all night.”

Wade whines softly at that—he  _ wants _ so badly for this to be real, for Peter to want him, to  _ want _ to stay just like this, holding him like he’s something precious, kissing him like he’s loved. His chest shudders and tears wet his lashes, his breathing unsteady. 

Peter croons wordlessly, kissing him again, slower now, drawing back between each one, letting them both catch their breath, letting their hearts slow down a little. The hand at the nape of his neck tugs until his brow is pressed to Peter’s, and he’s held there, eyes closed, listening to Peter breathe, the warmth of his hands on Wade’s body soothing. 

He’s never felt so safe. 

His throat works hard, and Peter hushes him, rubbing his back in firm, soothing patterns. 

“You ok baby?” he asks softly, thumb stroking Wade’s throat again. 

Wade nods and works up a trembling smile, “I’m good,” he murmurs, even if it’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is too shameful to admit; he wants this to be real, and the fact that it can’t ever be is utterly heartbreaking. 

“That’s good. You think you’re ready to move into your bedroom?” 

Wade nods again, and Peter hums his approval, kisses Wade again lightly. “Good boy. Go ahead and stand up baby,” he encourages, taking Wade’s hand as he stands, rising up with him so they’re pressed chest to chest. Peter tilts his chin and smiles up at him, lifts his free hand to brush his knuckles against Wade’s cheek, that fond look in his eye back again. 

“C’mon,” Wade murmurs, pulling gently on Peter’s hand, leading him back to his bedroom where the candles are already lit and the lights are low. 

Peter tugs on his hand and then steps past him, stopping beside Wade’s bed. He smiles and releases Wade’s hand, “I want you to strip and then undress me, can you do that?” he asks, smiling brighter when Wade nods eagerly. 

It takes him just under a minute to strip, clothes flung at his hamper before he falls to his knees once more to reach for the laces of Peter’s sneakers. 

“Good boy,” Peter praises, fingertips brushing over Wade’s scalp, the soft words sinking into his skin like the warm caress of sunlight. Wade unlaces both shoes before working them off and setting them aside, hands shaking slightly as he peels off Peter’s socks and stares down at his feet. 

He’s not a foot fetishist, but he thinks, for Peter, he might be. They’re pale gold, like the rest of Peter’s skin that he’s seen, with arches like a dancers, and Wade wonders for a moment if maybe Peter  _ is _ a dancer. He’s certainly muscular like one. 

The jeans are next, and Wade inhales unsteadily as the zipper is lowered, revealing a set of black and crimson briefs that cling to Peter’s thighs, highlighting the firm musculature. Peter steps out of the jeans, and Wade folds them carefully before piling them onto Peter’s shoes, conscientious of keeping Peter’s things nice and tidy. 

He hesitates a moment, not sure if he should go for Peter’s briefs or his shirt next and then decides that he wants to save the briefs for last. He rises up on his knees and takes the hem of Peter’s shirt with him as he rises to his feet and tugs it off, folding it carefully before kneeling back down and setting it aside with Peter’s other things. 

He allows himself to look now, taking in every inch of exposed skin that Peter’s been kind enough to allow him to touch. The firm planes of Peter’s chest glow in the candlelight, the dusky pink of his nipples so pretty it makes Wade’s hands twitch with the urge to touch. The vee of his hips is sharp, well defined, and Wade doesn’t fight the urge to lift a hand and trace it, looking up in surprise when Peter shudders softly. 

Peter smiles faintly and touches his cheek, “You look at me like I’m something special,” he murmurs, tracing Wade’s cheek with his knuckles. 

Brow furrowing, Wade leans into the touch, “You are,” he answers, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it is, to Wade, because only someone as special as Peter would tolerate Wade’s touch, his skin, the horror show that is his entire fucking life. 

Peter doesn’t respond to that like Wade expects; his lips twitch to the side, and he thumbs at Wade’s lower lip, “So are you baby,” he murmurs. 

Wade has no answer for that that won’t sound like he’s talking negatively about himself so he chooses instead not to say anything at all. Instead, he curls his fingers into the waistband of Peter’s briefs and starts pulling them down, gaze fixed on the bulge that’s pressing into the fabric. 

He gasps softly when Peter’s cock is revealed; pink and cut and  _ beautiful _ . It’s long and thick, and Wade swallows hard, mouth suddenly watering at the prospect of getting his mouth on it. He folds up the briefs and sets them aside before looking up at Peter pleadingly, hands resting on Peter’s thighs, feeling them flex under his touch.

“You wanna suck my cock baby?” Peter asks with a faint smirk, reaching out to curl his fingers around Wade’s skull, lifting a brow at Wade’s enthusiastic nod. “Yeah? Color, baby, please.”

“Green,” Wade responds immediately, body trembling with the urge to surge forward, repressed till Peter gives him the OK. 

“Good boy Wade, thank you. Go ahead baby, suck my cock,” Peter murmurs, keeping his hand on Wade’s skull as he lurches forward, hands sliding around the backs of Peter’s thighs, pulling him closer as he presses his face into the crook of Peter’s hip to inhale the scent of his skin. 

It’s warm and fresh, like lemons and rosemary, and Wade instantly loves it—whatever it is he uses to wash, Wade wants so he can smell it all the time. He nuzzles at Peter’s hip, breath fanning out onto the skin wetly, hot and just a little unsteady. Peter exhales and hums, fingers tightening slightly on Wade’s scalp as he starts kissing at Peter’s gloriously soft and smooth skin. 

His fingers can wrap nearly around the backs of Peter’s thighs and he likes the idea that he can hold Peter in his grip, that he can have something so precious in his hands. He licks at Peter’s hip and sucks a mark onto it slowly, listening to Peter’s sharp inhalation and soft curse, relishing in the pressure of his fingers on Wade’s scalp. 

Peter’s skin tastes clean and warm, and Wade shifts to leave another mark on Peter’s other hip, wishing he could leave them all over Peter’s skin, that he could make Peter  _ his _ . He growls softly at that thought and tightens his grip on Peter’s thighs, mouthing down through the thatch of coarse hair and then further down, till Peter is gasping softly, hips arching forward. 

Wade sucks wetly at the base of Peter’s cock, humming softly at the heady taste. Peter’s soft gasps drive him on, licking and sucking at the base and then along the shaft till he’s at the head, eyes falling shut as he sinks down onto it, sucking gently. 

“Oh god—fuck,  _ shit Wade _ ,” Peter gasps, hips hitching forward before stilling. 

Wade hums in pleasure, warmth spreading through his veins as Peter groans, fingers tightening on Wade’s scalp. He bobs his head, teasing the back of his throat with the head of Peter’s cock, humming at the taste, caressing the shaft with his tongue, taking his time to get it all sloppy and wet. 

“Fuck Wade,  _ God  _ baby, you’re so  _ good  _ at this,” Peter groans, “your  _ mouth _ ,” he gasps, throat clicking when he tries to swallow, hand tight on Wade’s head. 

Wade sinks a little deeper on Peter’s cock and into the warm floaty feeling of subspace, spit sliding down his chin as he bobs on Peter’s cock, sucking gently, not really trying to get him to cum, just enjoying the weight of his cock in his mouth. 

He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, all he knows is Peter’s voice, gasping praise, his hips occasionally rolling forward gently, the tensing of his muscles under Wade’s hands shifting and regular. 

Eventually Peter stills him with a touch to his cheek and Wade’s eyes open slowly, lids fluttering as he looks up at Peter, spit and pre cum on his lips as he pulls away with a wet pop, dizzy from the sustained lack of oxygen. 

Peter’s eyes are dark and hungry as he traces a thumb over the slick skin of Wade’s lower lip, “Fuck baby, look at you,” he murmurs, “you look like a fucked out mess, and we haven’t even gotten started.”

Wade moans softly and closes his lips around Peter’s thumb, sucking on it lightly. 

Peter’s lips open in awe, watching as Wade sucks on his thumb, chest rising and falling unsteadily, and Wade feels a swell of pride—he’s made Peter look like that, made him feel so good,  _ he’s _ done that. 

“ _ Christ _ , baby,” Peter whispers, throat working for a moment before he pulls his thumb away, “get on the bed, face down, ass in the air,” he commands, shoulders straightening. Wade nods and crawls up onto the bed, limbs already warm and soft, pushing his face gratefully into the pillow to hide his pink cheeks. 

He’s already down, just from stripping Peter and sucking his cock. It’s the easiest he’s ever gone down, and it sends a shudder through him, the ache to always have this, to have Peter to make him be good. 

The bed shifts, and he hears Peter shuffle up behind him before a hand lands on his thigh, stroking gently. “I’m gonna lick you open baby, get you nice and wet, and then finger you. I want you to keep your ass in the air and tell me if you get close, okay baby?”

Wade nods and jolts when Peter slaps his ass gently, “Words baby, use your words.” 

Wade nods again and swallows hard, “Yes sir, that’s good, I’m green.” 

“Good boy, thank you for using your words and your color. Now, you be as loud as you want baby, I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

Wade nods and then gasps a moment later when Peter pulls his cheeks apart and, without further ado, licks across his hole. A shudder runs up his spine, hot and heavy, as Peter does it again and again, laving across it a few times before circling it and then repeating that over and over again. 

Wade whines and rocks back into it before stilling, thighs trembling; he’s not sure if he’s allowed to move, and he doesn’t want to be bad. 

“You can move a little, baby,” Peter whispers, words brushing cooly against the wet skin of his hole so he shudders and gasps. Peter laughs softly and licks him again once, “C’mon baby, lemme hear you for real,” he encourages before diving back in with vigor. 

Wade cries out as Peter spears him with his tongue, wiggling it against his hole till it gives and his tongue sinks in just a little. Heat rolls through Wade’s body, demanding and urgent and nearly too much. He sobs as Peter wriggles his tongue and then pulls it back, daintily tracing the pucker of Wade’s hole, flicking at it over and over again. 

He couldn’t stop the noises he’s making even if he wanted to—and  _ God _ he doesn’t want to. Peter’s name is on his lips with each flick and roll of his tongue, the sloppy wet sounds filling the room as Peter eats him out with a single mindedness that Wade hasn’t been party to since before Ajax and the war. 

Peter sucks on his rim, and Wade keens, fingers digging into the sheets, gasping wetly as the younger man takes him apart slowly but surely. He’s not really sure how long it’s been, it could be days for all he knows, held here by Peter’s tongue and hands, falling apart with each sucking lick on his hole. 

His chest aches from the groans that wrack it, and he slams a fist into the bed as Peter fucks his tongue in, over and over again, a sharp moan falling from his lips at the nearly overwhelming sensations. 

“Fuck, Wade,” Peter groans against his hole, “sound so good baby.” 

He licks broadly over Wade’s hole and then a finger is pressing into him, and it’s not nearly enough, so he sobs and begs for more, rolling his hips back to try and force more of Peter into him. A low laugh reaches his ears and the finger slips out of him, “You take what I give you baby,” Peter reminds him, tracing a finger around the slick skin of his rim. “Mmmm you look so shiny and sweet baby, such a tasty little treat.”

Heat fills Wade’s cheeks and he groans, pressing his face into the pillows to hide the way he’s so easily aroused by  _ anything _ Peter says or does. When two fingers push into him, Wade shudders and sighs happily, “Thank you sir, thank you,” he gasps out, rocking back lightly, trying to take them deeper. 

Peter lets him for a minute before chuckling and stilling him with a hand on his hip, “Let me do the work baby, let me fuck that pretty hole with my fingers and loosen you up for my cock.” 

Groaning, Wade nods and shivers, body flexing in anticipation.

When Peter’s fingers start thrusting into him he moans softly in relief, the sound sharpening at the end as Peter licks at the edge of his rim, sucking on the tender skin there till Wade shouts, desperation filling his gut. 

He wants to come so badly, and he could, just like this, with Peter’s fingers inside him and his mouth wreaking havoc on Wade’s hole. The pillow under him grows damp from his mouth, slung open and drooling as he moans, limbs shivering with each delicious touch and lick. 

When Peter’s fingers unerringly find his prostate, he shivers hard and sobs, the buildup of pressure in his cock making him weak, body swaying under the relentless assault of pleasure. “‘M close,” he manages to slur out and then cries out when Peter’s fingers press more insistently on his prostate for a very long minute before his fingers slide out of Wade with a slick sound that leaves his skin flushed. 

“Good boy, Wade,” Peter whispers, voice low and hoarse. When Wade manages the strength to look back over his shoulder at the younger man, he moans at the sight that greets him. Peter is thoroughly debauched and disheveled, lips slick and shiny looking, pink and plump from eating out Wade for what feels like days, pupils wide and eyes dark with lust; Wade shudders at the look Peter gives him—hungry and hot. 

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” Wade moans, and then he’s gasping as Peter’s body presses along the back of his, and his spit slick lips find Wade’s, his mouth hungry and demanding as he kisses Wade. Peter wraps a hand around his throat and slots their bodies further together, lips sliding against Wade’s, the low moan that’s sliding out of Wade’s throat vibrating against Peter’s palm. 

He’s surrounded by Peter, the touch, the taste, the smell of him…

Peter’s lips leave his mouth and brush over his temple as the hot brand of his cock presses into Wade’s ass, both of them moaning when Peter grinds into him, panting loudly in his ear. “Fuck, Wade, I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he promises, and Wade whines, nodding enthusiastically, rocking back against Peter. 

“Please, need you in me,” he begs, “please Peter, please sir, please.” 

“Okay, baby,” Peter soothes him, nipping at the shell of his ear, licking at the nape of his neck, their groans mingling. “Fuck, Wade,” Peter moans, straightening, and then Wade feels the press of his cock against his hole and everything goes fuzzy around the edges. 

He’s lost track of things—because Peter slides in easily, so he must have added lube, but Wade doesn’t know when it happened. He’s rolling his hips over and over again, long hard strokes that punch little moans out of him with each one, and he’s shaking and gasping like he’s just run a goddamn marathon.

_ Pleasepleasepleasepleasepeterpeterpeterahhh! _

“Ah! Ah! Wade! Aw  _ fuck, _ baby, God, you take me so good!”

Peter’s hands grip his hips just on the edge of too much, and Wade relishes in it, hoping dizzily that he’ll leave marks on his skin so even after his cum has washed away and Wade’s hole isn’t filled with him anymore, that some lasting presence of Peter will remain. 

He wants it so badly it makes him sob— _ harderpleaseharder _

Peter groans and squeezes Wade’s hips tighter, holding him firmly as Peter’s hips start punching forward, eliciting sharp cries from Wade as each one grinds into his prostate, so sensitive and hot that he feels like he’ll burst into an inferno if Peter continues, but  _ God _ he wants to fucking  _ burn _ . 

“Fuck, Wade, so goddamn  _ pretty _ .”

“Christ, the way you  _ sound _ .”

“Oh  _ God _ baby, look how you take me.”

Wade shudders, his hot sensitive insides throbbing around Peter’s cock at the praise, a litany of  _ please  _ and  _ sir _ and  _ Peter _ falling from his lips. 

His cock sways between his legs, untouched and throbbing, but Wade barely notices. He kind of wishes he could see the way his body takes Peter, thinks that he’d like to see how he’s stretched taut around Peter’s cock, of how it feels so good sliding into him and how empty he feels when it’s sliding out. 

Each thrust is like a breath of air on the blaze roaring through his veins, steadily feeding the fire till he’s trembling and aching, sobbing out Peter’s name. 

“ _ Gonna...gonna cum sir!” _

Peter groans loudly and slows his hips, shifting so one of his hands leave’s Wade’s waist to slide up his chest, closing around his throat and gently, he tugs, directing Wade with a quietly whispered,  _ move _ , in his ear. 

Peter’s breath is hot on his skin, their bodies pressed even closer as he pushes himself up and lets Peter guide him up up up till he’s on his knees, legs spread over Peter’s lap, the force of gravity sending him sliding down further till it feels like Peter’s cock is in his fucking guts. 

Wade sobs loudly, cock slapping against his wet belly, a keen of  _ pleasesirplease _ eliciting a low growl in his ear and a kiss on the slick skin behind it. 

“You feel me, baby? Up here?” Peter demands, squeezing oh so gently on Wade’s throat, the sweet possessiveness of it making Wade shudder, a sob rattling his chest. He nods frantically, begging and pleading for more, held in place as Peter grinds up into him, over and over again, almost painfully slow. 

His whole reality is Peter. 

The blaze of heat behind and inside him is Peter, the lips on his ear are Peter, the hand on his throat is Peter. 

Peter grinds into him, deep and dirty and slow, rolling his hips so Wade can do nothing but take it, sobbing in the safe confines of Peter’s arms, the slick sound of their fucking nearly as loud as their gasping moans. 

He can feel the pressure in his gut growing, the throb in his cock making him gasp, head falling back to lay on Peter’s shoulder, utterly gone on the man fucking him so sweetly. Peter croons filth into his ear, hand firm on his throat, holding him but not hurting him _ —never  _ that.

_ So good, Wade, you take my cock so perfectly baby boy _

_ God, Wade, you moan like a little whore for my cock, lemme hear it again baby, please _

_ Aw shit, baby, look at your cock, it’s leaking all over the place,  _ **_lookatitWade_ **

He can barely breathe let alone look like Peter wants him to, but that’s easy enough to fix—Peter grabs his chin and directs his head, forcing him to look down at where his cock is leaking, leaking so hard it’s dripping off his balls and onto the comforter. 

“Yea, baby, look at that fuckin  _ mess _ ,” Peter growls in his ear, “I should make you lick it up, huh? Good boys clean up their messes.”

Wade keens and nods. He should, he should do what Peter wants, be good. 

“I’m gonna come, Wade,  _ shit _ baby, I’m gonna come and fill you up, you ready?” Peter demands, hand tilting Wade’s chin so their eyes can meet—ss much as Wade’s able to with his lids so heavy he can barely keep them open. 

“Color, Wade,” Peter murmurs in his ear, voice calmer now. 

_ Colorcolorcolor _ he thinks, gasping when Peter’s slow grind somehow focuses directly onto his prostate, another spurt of cum leaking out at the electric pleasure. 

“GREEN!” he slurs loudly, sobbing when Peter grinds harder into him,  _ good fucking boy _ ... _ come for me  _ hissed into his ear before teeth close on the skin of his neck and everything goes hazy and white, a scream tearing out of his throat as he comes. 

His throat is taut as he struggles to breathe through the force of Peter arching and rolling his hips hard, pounding into Wade as he cries out, chasing his own release. The barrage on his soft, tender walls makes him wail, cock throbbing again between his legs as Peter groans his name and comes. 

The electricity in his skin makes him shiver, tears on his cheeks as Peter croons softly in his ear, the slow grind of his hips slowing further as the white noise in Wade’s head fades. 

“God, Wade, honey, you did so good,  _ shit _ ,” he murmurs with a laugh, out of breath and sweaty. 

“T-thank you s-ir,” he manages to get out, breathing hard, heart thumping madly in his chest. 

Peter chuckles and licks his neck lightly, “Did I wear you out, baby? Hmm?”

Wade hums and shakes his head slightly, “No...just need...a breather,” he manages, smiling weakly when Peter hums in agreement, nuzzling at his throat gently. He holds Wade like that for awhile, till he’s soft and sliding out, a slick trickle of cum following after. Peter makes a low sound and gently guides him down onto his belly again, snatching a pillow to shove under his hips before Wade’s boneless on the mattress. 

“Wade, if I get us something to drink, will you be okay alone for a moment?”

Wade thinks about that as fingers trail down his spine, gentle and teasing. 

Finally, he nods. “‘Sgood Peter, ‘s green.”

He smiles when he feels lips on his shoulder and then again on the nape of his neck, and he shivers, pleased he’s done well.

“Good boy. Stay there, and I’ll be right back.”

Wade hums and listens as Peter rises with a low curse and a chuckle, feet padding against the floor as he leaves the room. Wade’s limbs are so melted right now there’s no way he’d ever be able to get up, so he’s grateful that Peter seems to be capable. 

“How you doin’ baby?”

He’s sorta dozed off, and Peter’s voice comes from a hazy, warm place that makes him smile. 

“‘M good sir,” he sighs, smiling when Peter chuckles and then sits beside him, the mattress dipping. Wade opens his eyes and finds Peter smiling warmly at him, a glass of water in his hand. 

“Here, let me help you,” Peter murmurs, a hand at the back of Wade’s head guiding him up enough that he can safely sip from the glass, blushing under Peter’s steady gaze, gasping softly when he’s finished the water, a desert within him slaked for the moment. 

Peter wipes the water that’s spilled down his chin away gently, still smiling that smile that makes Wade ache and hope. “How are you feeling, Wade? Would you like to complete the last of your requests?” he asks seriously, petting his knuckles against Wade’s cheek. 

Nodding immediately, Wade flushes at Peter’s low laugh and teasing  _ eager baby _ , but maintains eye contact long enough to murmur  _ please _ , and then Peter’s laughter is dying and his pupils are flaring, a hungry look in his eye as he leans in and kisses Wade firmly, possessively. 

“ _ Fuck, Wade _ ,” he whispers, sounding awed. “You’re so fucking good for me.”

The bottle of lube is tangled up in the sheets, but Peter finds it and pushes him down gently with a kiss to the back of his skull and a whispered order to _remember to_ _breathe, baby._ Wade’s gut twists with pleasure; even through his slowly receding haze of orgasm, he’s eager for more. 

Peter’s fingers slide back into him easily—he’s slick and messy with lube and cum, but then he feels more lube squirting onto his hole, and he gasps at the cool sensation, at the wet sound it makes when Peter’s fingers slide out of him and then push it deep inside him. 

It goes on like that for a while, Peter fingering him and adding more lube till Wade can feel it inside him, squishing with each slow thrust of Peter’s fingers. 

They’re easily up to three fingers, and Wade is hard again, moaning Peter’s name as his hips writhe against the sheets. Peter caresses his hip with a low shushing sound, “I’m gonna give you more Wade, just hold on,” he croons. 

Wade groans when Peter’s pinkie slips into him, cries out like a warbling baby bird when those slim, gorgeous fingers spread him open, open enough that he can feel the cool air inside him. He sobs at the raw openness of the moment, of the way Peter is exposing him, owning and controlling him so sweetly. 

It’s electric in his veins, the sensation of Peter touching him so intimately, of being so weak and vulnerable for someone. 

“Good boy, Wade, just take it baby,” Peter murmurs, “take it so good.”

Peter twists his hand, thumb pressing into Wade’s coccyx, holding him almost, as his fingers press and spread, the touch against where he’s hot and wet leaving him shuddering. The slick slide of Peter’s hand pressing against his body makes him whine, aching to have all of him so deep inside Wade that it brands him somehow.

“ _ Shit, baby _ ,” Peter groans, “look at you.”

And then his thumb is tucked in along with the other four fingers on the next thrust in, and Wade’s keening at the stretch, not so much as to hurt but enough to make him feel every inch of it. Peter curses and fucks his fingers in slowly, back and forth, lube trickling out of Wade’s hole with each thrust. 

“Christ, Wade, you’re such a mess; your slutty little hole is leaking like a cunt.”

Wade shudders and nods desperately, he can feel it, feel how it’s sliding out of him, and it’s gloriously humiliating. He’s shaking as Peter’s hand works up to the last knuckles, shouting when Peter curls his hand slowly into a fist and proceeds to pull it back, fucking Wade’s rim with it. 

He can’t stop shaking as Peter’s fist spreads him so wide it aches and throbs, deep into his gut. He cries out again when Peter pulls it all the way out and then forces it back in, the stretch nearly unbearable and so so perfect it tears a sob out of him. 

“Oh God, Wade, look at your hole, baby. It’s all stretched out and red; fuck, it’s so pretty baby.”

Wade writhes, the praise shoving him higher, making him glow from the inside out—incandescent with pleasure. He sobs as Peter fucks his hole with his fist, the sloppy wet sound of it growing when Peter pours more lube over his hand and hole. 

“I’m gonna make the neighbors know my name,” Peter threatens, fist sliding in till Wade’s hole closes around his wrist and the utterly shocking knowledge that Peter’s whole hand is inside him has him coming abruptly, a shrill cry tearing at his raw throat as he shivers apart. 

“Oh  _ fuck,  _ Wade, that was so goddamn pretty,” Peter groans, lips brushing against the swell of Wade’s ass.

And then he’s pushing further in till his knuckles are dragging over Wade’s prostate, the added stimulation making Wade shudder and moan, deep and low, as he’s completely overwhelmed by everything. He can only lay there and take it as Peter fucks his ass again, this time with his hand, deep inside him. 

He feels bruised and soft, broken open by the sensation of Peter so deep inside him it’s like he’s a part of Wade now. He clenches down possesively at that thought and Peter curses, “Fuck, Wade, can feel you clenching around me baby, do it again.”

It almost hurts doing it—he feels  _ so much _ right now that he can’t tell what’s what anymore. He clenches and spasms as Peter pulls his hand out and then works it back inside him, over and over again till he barely has to push before Wade’s body is letting him back inside. 

Wade’s mouth is open around one long continuous moan, drool soaking the pillow beneath him, body rocking with the push pull of Peter inside him. 

He’s so full….

“Ah, fuck, Wade, I’m hard again. God, baby, you’re so gorgeous like this, made me hard again,” Peter pants. Wade moans at that—that he’s been good, that he’s taken what Peter is giving him, and he’s made Peter hard again. 

He distantly hears Peter jacking himself, the hand inside Wade still moving steadily, rotating now too, stretching and pushing him open till he’s sobbing and begging incoherently. 

The squelch of the lube and cum inside him makes him burn with embarrassment, the heat of it eating him up inside till he’s shaking with the need to come again. He’s not even really sure when he got hard again, but he’s begging  _ pleasesirpleasepleasepeter, _ and Peter is groaning, “Fuck, Wade, yeah baby, come for me! I’m gonna come, can I come on your hole baby, please?” Peter pleads and Wade is gone, nodding and crying out as he comes. 

His body lurches and spasms with the force of it, and he chokes on a sob that might be  _ please  _ or more likely  _ Peter _ , hole clamping down on where Peter is still inside him, and he’s so full it makes him whine, everything too much as he shakes through the strongest orgasm of his life. 

Peter curses behind him and distantly Wade feels the splash of cum across his ass, his hole too hot and stretched to register the additional heat as anything more than just pure sensation. Peter groans loudly, and Wade feels a momentary flash of pride— _ he’s _ done that to Peter. 

His breathing is rapid and unsteady for a long time, and as his body goes slack, Peter starts to work his hand out of Wade, crooning praise and reassurance when he whines and tenses. “Shh, it’s ok, baby, you’re ok. You did so good Wade; you let me inside you, let me make a mess out of you honey.”

He did good.  _ He did good _ . 

Peter croons more praise, hand slipping out entirely, and Wade cries out softly, shuddering when Peter presses a kiss to the small of his back, “Shh, I know baby, I’m right here. You were amazing, baby, so good.” 

He feels Peter shift and feels something flop onto the bed with them and then, a moment later, a wet wipe is sliding down his spine, gently sliding through his crack and down his taint, Peter hushing him when he whines in oversensitivity. 

“Shh, you’re doing so well baby, just gotta get you clean, ok?”

Wade nods and shivers as Peter continues wiping him down, till he’s clean all over—Peter even has him roll onto his back with a towel under him so he could wipe down the front of Wade, and Wade smiles softly because it’s so like Peter to care about making sure he’s clean and dry before he gets off the bed and takes care of himself. 

Through sleepy hazy eyes, he watches Peter wipe himself off, squirming a little when Peter looks up and finds him watching, a warm, fond smile spreading on his lips before he’s tossing aside the dirty wipes and climbing back into bed to kiss Wade. 

His kiss is dizzying and soft, slow and warm like molasses on Wade’s tongue. It’s heady like mead, drugging and fantastic, and he never ever wants it to end. Eventually it does, though, with Peter lying on top of him like a heavy, warm blanket, and Wade is so fucking content he can’t help but feel like his chest will burst open with it. 

He falls asleep that way—with Peter draped over him, keeping him pinned down in the best way possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say in the comments!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!
> 
> Edit 6/1/20: Hi folks, there is a user leaving comments that are rude, inflammatory, and vicious and I’d ask that you don’t engage with them. Please don’t feed the trolls! Thank you for reading, I appreciate you so much for being kind and respectful in your interactions with this fic and myself.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter lays still, watching the slow rise and fall of Wade’s chest, studying the way his eyes flicker behind his lids, the occasional twitch running through his limbs as he slumbers. 

It’s only the second time he’s stayed with Wade and already he’s getting used to the way the larger man curls around him in his sleep, how his lips feel against Peter’s neck, and that’s _dangerous_. 

Not falling for the clients is a hard and fast rule. If Natasha found out he’s been having _feelings_ about Wade she’d bar him from accepting further dates. 

Not that he has feelings. 

He just...feels…something he’s never felt before for a client. 

Compassion. Understanding. _Affection_. 

Wade is so utterly broken it makes Peter’s heart _ache_. When Wade had told him about his past last night it had been like a shadow, clawed and fanged had reached into his chest to wrap its knobby fingers around his heart and squeeze. 

Like recognized like. 

Peter had let terrible things happen to his loved ones because he was _weak_. 

Wade had done terrible things for his country and had been repaid with pain and suffering. 

_Like recognized like._

Wade’s tears had elicited something in Peter—an urge to protect, to care for the older man, to shower him with the affection it was so clear he craved. 

Peter knows it’s wrong, unprofessional and unhealthy, but he wants to make Wade happy. 

He wants to see him smile, hear his laugh, watch him fall apart under Peter’s hands. He wants to make him breakfast and hear about his jobs, how his day went...all the domestic little things that he’s been aching for since he’d killed Gwen. 

_Gwen_

His eyes fall shut as bitter regret fills his throat and he inhales slowly, tamping down on the urge to be sick. 

“Peter?”

At the soft, concerned voice he opens his eyes and smiles, so easily it feels like breathing when he sees Wade staring at him sleepily, beautiful blue eyes soft and hazy. 

Affection curls into his chest and he hates himself a little for how right it feels. Pushing it all away is easy—he’s locked his emotions away for years now, this is nothing compared to the _after_ of Gwen’s death. 

Leaning in, he smiles softly and kisses Wade, hand slipping around his neck to urge him closer, humming in satisfaction when Wade sighs and melts into his touch. 

“G’morning,” he murmurs against Wade’s lips, nuzzling their noses together before going back to the soft flesh of Wade’s mouth. Peter licks gently at the curve of Wade’s top lip, does it again when Wade’s breath hitches, and then kisses the corner of his mouth sweetly. 

When he pulls back to asses, heat burns a little brighter in his veins—Wade’s eyes are still shut and he’s breathing unsteadily, a dazed look on his face. _He_ did that he thinks, pride swelling within him. 

He shifts a little and begins tracing over the lines of Wade’s face, following it up with brushes of his mouth against Wade’s burned and scarred skin. 

“You’re so sweet Wade,” he croons against his temple. 

Wade shivers and sighs. 

“The best boy ever,” he murmurs, lips brushing over his eyelids. 

Wade whines softly and shifts against him, urging closer. 

“So good for me last night baby,” he whispers, tongue flickering out against Wade’s jaw. 

Wade gasps and pushes closer, till his hips are fully against Peter’s and he can feel how hard Wade is. 

“So good _always_ ,” he tells Wade, fingers shifting down to toy idly with Wade’s nipples as he kisses him, inhales his whining gasp, greedy for more. 

Wade shudders and gasps as Peter kisses him, falling easily to his back when Peter pushes, eyes wide as Peter slides into his lap and runs his hands over Wade’s impossibly broad chest. 

“God baby, you’re so _beautiful_ ,” Peter whispers, awe tingeing his voice. Wade shakes his head and throws an arm over his face, throat working hard. 

“‘M not,” he rasps, voice raw and wavering.

Peter frowns, he knows Wade hates his skin, and his previous implications that people have said unkind things about it in the past had led Peter to investigate a little within the agency to see who all had visited Wade. 

Not that many people, as it turns out. 

The last woman, Krystal, had left without even taking payment or fulfilling the request sent in by Wade, and with a few carefully placed questions to Natasha, he’d found out she’d been let go—something Peter wholeheartedly approves of.

Wrapping his fingers carefully around Wade’s wrist, he applies a tiny bit of pressure and leans down, kissing Wade gently as his thumb strokes Wade’s palm. He can feel the tension under Wade’s skin bleeding away slowly, and with it, Peter moves Wade’s arm off his face. 

He guides Wade’s hand to his waist and squeezes it against his hip before letting go, humming softly in pleasure when Wade takes the hint and lifts his other hand to grip Peter’s other hip. 

“You’re beautiful Wade,” he whispers into the kiss, nipping at Wade’s lip when he tries to refute it. 

_Gorgeous_ he whispers against Wade’s throat, teeth bared against the skin so he can leave marks there, a swell of possession making his body heat pleasantly. 

He sucks harder and grins when Wade gasps, licks it and murmurs, “Delicious baby,” before rolling his hips down so Wade can feel how he’s growing hard. 

Wade gasps his name and arches up into him, the thick length of his cock pressing into Peter’s ass, hard and insistent. 

Peter leaves a string of bruises and teeth marks on Wade’s throat and chest, crooning praise as he goes, relishing in the way Wade softens under him. 

Wade shudders and gasps loudly when Peter licks at one of his nipples, limbs thrashing when Peter’s teeth close on it and tug gently. 

“Ah! _Peter!”_

_God,_ Peter thinks, the _sounds_ Wade makes are _incredible_. He tells him as much and licks over the nipple he’d bitten and Wade gasps, breath hitching when Peter nips again, harder this time. 

It’s stunning to Peter, how easily this man gives up control, how much he craves being used and made to feel—the power and trust that he places in Peter’s hands is absolutely _dizzying_. 

Affection and amazement courses through him and he gentles, stretching up to kiss Wade again, hungry and firm, fingers playing with the nipple he’s neglected. 

“ _Fuck_ Wade, you sound so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, groaning softly when he rolls his hips down and grinds his now leaking cock into Wade’s hip. 

“For you,” Wade gasps, hands flexing on Peter’s hips till it’s nearly bruising, the sweet pain of it making Peter groan and bite on Wade’s lower lip. 

Wade’s eyes burn a bright blue when Peter shifts to press their foreheads together, hips slotting so their cocks align. Wade whines deep in his throat when Peter rolls his hips, grinding their cocks together, the slick slide of skin deepening the flush on his cheeks. 

“Beautiful baby, so goddamn beautiful,” he pants, sweat slick on their bellies as they slide together. Wade’s hands spread wide over Peter’s ass, gripping so hard it aches, aches so sweetly it makes his cock twitch and breath gasp in his chest. 

Wade whines gently and shakes underneath him at the praise, blue eyes gone hazy and Peter knows he’s sinking into subspace. Peter presses their brows together a little harder when Wade’s eyelids flutter; “Look at me baby, right here,” he demands, groaning at a particularly delicious roll of Wade’s hips against his. 

Blue eyes meet golden hazel and Peter’s heart stutters in his chest at the adoration pouring out of them. He caresses Wade’s cheek gently, slowing the roll of his hips and shifts to kiss Wade again, sighing into his wet, pliant mouth. 

“Fuck Wade, I want you,” he murmurs, voice shaking. Licking his lips, he pulls back to meet Wade’s gaze, “I want to ride you baby, can I do that?” he asks, aching desperation filling his gut. 

Wade makes a punched out sound, eyes wide and stunned as he nods breathlessly, “Y-yes, _please_ Peter, _please,”_ he begs, hands flexing on Peter’s body. 

Relief shoots through Peter and he kisses Wade, hard. “Good,” he breathes, “thank you baby, _thank you.”_

He sits up and nearly falls off the bed in his eagerness to get the lube from where it had fallen the night before, but Wade’s hands are strong, steadying him. 

Wade is smiling as he guides Peter back upright and Peter can’t help but lean in and kiss him; Wade’s cheek cradled in one palm, the lube in the other. It’s soft and sweet—he can almost taste how happy Wade is, certainly, he can feel his smile as they kiss, the fire between them lowered back to a simmer. 

Peter laughs softly and nuzzles Wade’s cheek, “Good catch baby,” he murmurs teasingly, “those big hands of yours are perfect for keeping me safe.”

Wade huffs a soft laugh and kisses Peter firmly, one large hand splaying over his spine, holding him close. “I’d always keep you safe Pete.”

It’s said softly, almost shyly, and Peter hides his emotional reaction to it by kissing Wade hard, clinging to him just as hard as Wade is clinging to Peter, desperate to never let go. 

His heart feels like it’s being crushed, but Peter ignores it, kisses Wade hard and savors the time they have together. 

It’s all he _can_ do, really. 

When he breaks away, Peter’s breathing is ragged, chest heaving, and he stares down in wonder at Wade. He makes a decision in that moment and holds out the lube; “I want you to do it Wade, I want you to open me up,” he murmurs, a soft note of command in his voice. 

Wade makes a choked sound and nods hastily, the bottle almost slipping from his fingers as he takes it from Peter. 

“Condom?” he offers hoarsely and Peter shakes his head, leans down and kisses him hard again. 

“Want to feel you come in me,” he gasps out, smirking a little when Wade moans and grinds his cock up into Peter. 

After that it’s a mad fumble; Wade slicks his fingers and sits up, one large hand holding onto Peter’s waist, the other shaking slightly, finds its way into the cleft of Peter’s ass, the cool touch of lube on his skin leaving him gasping. 

Wade watches his face as he presses against Peter’s hole, one slick finger sliding in easily and Peter groans, a fine shiver running over his spine at the familiar sensation. 

His job means he gets fucked at least every few days, in varying positions and ways. 

And yet…

With Wade it feels new and yet somehow so familiar it makes him quiver, inhaling shakily as Wade fingers him slowly. 

“ _Fuck,_ Wade,” he moans, “feels so good inside me.”

Wade’s lips are parted around his unsteady breathing, pink and wet and inviting, and Peter can’t resist leaning in and sucking at that lower lip before diving into Wade’s mouth. 

He cups Wade’s head and holds him there while the older man sinks another finger into him. A shard of heat slices up his spine at the stretch and he cries out against Wade’s mouth, gasping Wade’s name. 

“ _Wade,_ uh! Oh God, r-right _there_!” he cries, shaking when Wade’s fingers find his prostate and take up residence there, the warm burn in his gut glowing brighter. 

Sweat rolls down his brow and leaves his back slick, but Wade holds him steady as he fingers him, spreading him open gently. 

“‘S good Pete? I’m doing good?” Wade asks, hopeful and sweet and Peter nods frantically, cock twitching against Wade’s belly as the heat in his gut grows with each passing moment. 

His hands shake against Wade’s skin and he can barely breathe, not really kissing Wade anymore, more a slippery slide of lips against each other as he rolls his hips back and fucks himself on Wade’s fingers. 

“Yeah baby, so good, _so good_ ,” Peter moans, eyes barely open, just enough that he can see the adoration in Wade’s eyes looking up at him. He gasps, eyes opening wide when a third finger slides into him, a low broken moan of Wade’s name slipping past his lips. 

Peter fucks himself back on Wade’s fingers until the need for more makes him groan and reluctantly come to a standstill. His brow is pressed to Wade’s temple, breath fanning hotly over his skin, so he can feel how Wade shudders when he whispers, “I _need_ you inside me Wade, be a good boy and give me your cock.”

The fingers inside him disappear and he can feel Wade shaking as he lines up his cock to press against Peter’s hole. Peter shifts and starts to push down, arms laced around Wade’s shoulders, lips sliding together as Peter pants and rolls his hips. 

Wade whines and shudders against him, gasping Peter’s name over and over again, hands bruising on his hips and all Peter wants is _more_. 

He gets off with his other clients, usually, but _this_ , with Wade, is entirely something else. 

His rim _burns_ as he slides down onto Wade’s cock, the thick push of it leaving him trembling. He pants against Wade’s lips and kisses him with a desperation he hasn’t felt in _years_ . “ _Shit,_ Wade,” he breathes out unsteadily, “you feel so good in me baby.”

Wade whines and grips onto him tighter. “‘S good? I’m good?” he begs, one of his hands sliding up into Peter’s sweat damp hair, cradling him as though he’s precious, and it makes something inside him crack wide open. 

“ _So good,_ baby, _God,_ so good,” Peter sobs, hips rolling till Wade’s barely inside him and oh, oh how he hates how empty he feels. 

“So hot _inside you_ ,” Wade moans, shuddering as he holds still, and Peter realizes he hasn’t given Wade permission to move. 

“ _Ngh_ ,” he groans, “move Wade, c’mon, fuck me baby,” he demands as he slides back down Wade’s cock so he’s deliciously full again. 

Wade gasps out _Yes sir_ and then bucks his hips up into Peter, the hand at Peter’s hip holding him down for a moment so he can grind up up up into the deepest parts of him and Peter cries out sharply, a broken shout of Wade’s name. 

He holds on as Wade does it again and again, rolling his hips down hard, the frantic sound of skin on skin filling the air alongside their wet gasps and broken moans. 

Peter pulls his head back just far enough that he can make eye contact with Wade and it’s like a bolt of lightning up his spine. Something unleashes inside him and then he’s kissing and biting and fucking himself down hard onto Wade’s cock, barely conscious of the words falling from his lips. 

_Mine Wade, you’re_ **_mine_ **

_So good baby, so good for me, all mine_

_Please Wade,_ **_harder_ **

He’s barely aware of the way the bed slams into the wall, or that his cries have reached near shouts, all he can think and hear and feel is Wade. 

The grind of Wade’s cock inside him is bruising and hard and perfect, the pace of it leaving him breathless and drawing ragged breaths. 

He’s so close, so close now. 

Peter kisses Wade sloppily and sobs into it, body shaking with each punishing thrust from his lover— _client—_ “Make me come,” he begs, “Wade, make me come.”

Wade nods frantically and tightens the grip he has on Peter’s hair, soaked now with sweat, the sharp lance of pain making him cry out, cock twitching where it’s pinned between them. 

Peter screams when Wade thrusts up harder, voice catching as he begs Peter— _please,_ **_come_ ** _Peter, please!_

Through tear hazed eyes he looks into Wade’s eyes and smiles dazedly, lifting a shaking hand to cup Wade’s cheek. There are tears on Wade’s skin too and Peter wipes them away, trails his fingers down to Wade’s lips and moans when they’re licked clean. 

_Wade_ he gasps, voice raw and broken, _come with me_ he demands, fingers sliding wetly over Wade’s skin, scrambling to seek purchase as he fucks himself down harder, raw cries of pleasure falling from his lips. 

He feels bruised inside, where Wade is, and he relishes in it because he knows it will ache later, that there will be tangible proof that this happened long after he’s left Wade. 

He sobs at that—he doesn’t want to leave, he wants to stay, here with Wade, _forever_. 

Wade kisses his jaw sweetly and then sucks a mark behind his ear and Peter shudders, crying out as he comes unexpectedly, limbs frantic and spasming as his cock spills and paints them both with his release.

He just barely gets his eyes open again in time to see Wade’s eyes go wide and his lips purse around the _oh_ that falls from them as he too comes. Wade stares up into Peter’s eyes, stares as though Peter is his messiah and Peter can barely stand the way his chest twists in agony at the sight of it. 

Peter’s name is on Wade’s lips as his cock twitches and spills inside him, and Peter finally lets his eyes fall shut, a lingering tear on his lash falling free to roll down his cheek. 

For a very long time the only sound in the room is their harsh breathing. Wade’s face is pressed to Peter’s throat and he can feel the larger man trembling against him, so he swallows hard and murmurs praise, voice raw and exhausted. 

He wants this. 

He wants Wade. 

And maybe Wade wants him too, but Peter could never be good enough for someone as sweet and kind as Wade. 

Peter kills the things he loves. 

So he swallows down his feelings and shoves them in a box and buries it deep down inside himself.

He can be what Wade needs. 

A whore, and nothing more. 

* * *

Wade stares at the rumpled and stained sheets that are cold now—Peter is long gone but Wade can still smell him on his skin. After they had gotten their breath back Peter had gotten up and brought him water, heated up Chinese leftovers and stayed, until Wade was back up, calm and satiated. 

He’d pressed a kiss to Wade’s lips when he’d walked him to the door and murmured for Wade to call him again.

As if this had been a date. 

As if it had been _real_. 

Wade loathes himself for crawling back into those sheets and wrapping himself in them, but not enough to stop. 

Not enough to keep him from smelling them as he jerks off, reaching down to touch where Peter’s hand had slid into him last night, whining at the deep ache that lingers within his body. 

He doesn’t want it to _go_. 

He doesn’t want _Peter_ to go. 

But then, Wade’s never gotten what he wanted in life, why would he now? 

* * *

Peter can still feel how tender he is two days later when a different client is fucking him and it’s the first time he’s ever gotten off before a client—it takes them both by surprise and he hastily covers it with a _oh you made me feel so good I couldn’t hold back!_

He pants into the sheets as the man pulls out and strokes himself off over his back, hole clenching as he moans and recalls the way Wade had felt coming inside him. 

When the ache subsides a few days later he stares at his phone, biting his lip till he gives in and texts Wade. 

He tries to lie to himself and pretend it doesn’t matter, but Peter’s never been a very good liar. 

* * *

Peter lays still, watching Wade sleep, his fingers itching to touch, to soak in the feeling of Wade’s skin against his so that maybe this time when he leaves, he won’t crave it so badly when he’s gone. 

It’s a futile hope, but one he holds nonetheless.

He’s seen Wade so many times in the last six months that he now has a key to Wade’s place. It’s just another in a long string of lines that he’s crossed with Wade, dragging him deeper into his hopeless crush on the older man. 

Nat has made comments about how they don’t _do_ the boyfriend experience and that Peter’s other customers are starting to notice his lack of attention, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much, which he knows is a problem, but he also can’t bring himself to stop seeing Wade. 

What he feels for Wade is _deeply_ unprofessional, and while he’s certain Wade enjoys their time together too, he _knows_ there’s no way the man could actually fall for Peter the way he’s fallen for Wade. 

He’s just a whore, albeit one that Wade enjoys being with—he can’t expect Wade to actually want Peter for the person he is. 

A part of him aches to just tell Wade, to explain his feelings and see if Wade would be willing to take a chance on him, but this isn’t some rom-com where everything will work out well in the end, it’s real life and though it’s painful, he has to start to wean himself off Wade so he doesn’t get his heart broken. 

_More_ broken would be more accurate, because he already knows how badly it’s going to hurt not to see Wade as much as he does now. They text constantly when they’re apart, stupid little shit, a stream of consciousness that’s silly and refreshing. 

_Why do people insist on walking so slowly and then speed up when you try to walk around them??_

**_You need me to kneecap a bitch Pete? I’ll do it!_ **

He smiles and presses his lips against the curve of Wade’s shoulder, the barest of kisses. There’s a not so small part of him that loves waking up next to Wade, and he tries to brush it off as being affection starved, but deep down, he knows that’s not the truth. 

The truth is, he’s fallen for a client and it’s going to end in disaster. 

Wade stirs next to him and it jostles him out of his dark thoughts, watching the older man’s lids flutter, feeling the tense and release of muscle as he shifts, a low whine in his throat as he arches and then turns his head, eyes opening slowly as a smile forms on his lips. 

_God,_ it’s a thing of beauty, being able to see Wade like this; soft and sleepy and sweet.

“Mornin’,” Wade murmurs, a flush of pink on his cheeks from being sleep warm and soft. 

Peter can’t help but lift his fingers to trace the color, smiling when it darkens. Despite all their time together, Wade still flushes so easily when Peter touches him. 

Half the reason he does it now is to see that pink spread and burn brighter, to see the way Wade squirms and bites his lip, eager and hopeful for more, but scared to ask for it. 

“Morning,” he whispers back, debating a good morning kiss for a moment before leaning in and brushing his lips over Wade’s brow, smiling when Wade makes a soft noise and shifts a little closer. 

He takes his time, kissing along the sharp prow of Wade’s nose, delicately brushing over each eyelid and across the high angles of his cheekbones before coming back to his wonderfully soft lips for a sweet kiss that lingers till Wade is breathing unsteadily and swallowing hard. 

He should really control himself, hold back on these affectionate displays, but Wade soaks it up like a flower drinking in the rays of the sun, and Peter can’t help but want to give him more. 

Everything that he’s learned about Wade and his past has made him (a normally soft spoken and mild mannered man) want to hunt down Wade’s father and commanding officer Ajax and beat them bloody. 

If they weren’t both dead already, Peter would be sorely tempted to try. 

“What are you doin today?” Wade asks softly, drawing Peter’s attention back to this moment. His blue eyes are wary and a little sad—as they always are when they discuss what Peter gets up to when he’s not with Wade. 

He tries to keep his personal life to himself with all his clients, to keep the personal private...but with Wade it’s like the entire playbook has been thrown out the window, along with every scrap of self preservation he’s ever had. 

“I have to study for a biochem midterm,” he admits, because Wade already knows that he’s in college. “And I have a paper due for thermodynamics of physics, and a photo portfolio for my photography class.”

Wade’s browns rise, “Damn Pete, that’s a lot,” he muses, “Maybe...do you need to go?” he asks hesitantly, brilliant blue eyes sad. 

He should, he really should go, but...he smiles instead and shakes his head, “And miss out on the best pancakes in the world?” he murmurs teasingly, something warm unfurling in his chest when Wade smiles brightly, pure joy in his eyes. 

Wade kisses him eagerly and Peter feels his heart break a little more. He’s _so_ far gone for Wade...it’s going to break him when he finally makes himself leave Wade. He knows he can’t keep doing this—being with Wade like he’s actually Peter’s boyfriend. 

It’s not fair to either of them. 

Peter laughs when Wade falls out of bed, eager to get to the kitchen. He watches as Wade pulls on briefs and a T-shirt, smiling when he comes back for a kiss before hurrying out to the kitchen. 

Peter showers while Wade cooks—and it shouldn’t be routine, but he moves without thought, knows where everything is, and before he knows it he’s clean and dry and dressed. 

When he walks barefoot out into the kitchen Wade looks over his shoulder and grins, eyes sparkling. “Hey,” he murmurs, “got an appetite?” he asks playfully, and _christ_ , it shouldn’t please him so much to see Wade so happy, but it _does_ and it makes his gut twist. 

He nods and goes to sit at the counter, nodding along as Wade chatters—something he does more of nowadays. He talks about pancakes and Bea Arthur and how climate change is going to cause mass population displacement and Peter can’t help but smile fondly, heart aching with how much he l—likes, **_likes_** Wade. 

His breath catches at the almost slip up—he won’t even let himself think the word because if he does, then it’s _real_ and he has to do something about it and he can’t, he _can’t_ break Wade’s heart. 

He manages to keep up with conversation while they eat and shoos Wade out of the kitchen with an order to shower and a parting kiss that makes his chest ache. He washes the dishes slowly, gaze fixed out the window, hands moving mindlessly, scrubbing and scrubbing at the same plate. 

A loud thump comes from the back of the house, where Wade’s bedroom is and Peter pauses, listening intently. 

Maybe Wade just slipped in the shower. 

Grabbing a towel, he dries off his hands and walks slowly back to Wade’s room, peering around the corner to where the bathroom door is shut. 

The shower is running but he doesn’t hear Wade’s usual singing, just silence. 

Worry knots in his gut and he leans in, knocks on the door. 

“Wade? I heard a thud, are you okay?”

Silence 

He knocks harder and calls out Wade’s name again. 

Silence 

Heart thumping painfully in his chest, he grabs the handle and turns it, pushing until the whole of the bathroom is exposed.

A low gasp rushes from his chest when he sees Wade, motionless and bleeding from a laceration to his brow, limbs tangled in the shower curtain as the water falls down on his body. 

“Wade!” 

His hands tremble as he rushes forward to shut off the water, grabbing a hand towel to press against the wound on Wade’s skull. “C’mon Wade, open your eyes darling, for me, _please,”_ he whispers, tears burning in his eyes. 

Wade doesn’t move, and he’s so still it makes Peter _hurt_. 

“Wade, c’mon, _please_ , open those beautiful blue eyes for me,” he sobs, tears on his cheeks as Wade remains resolutely still. 

He sniffles hard and stands, hands shaking, stomach lurching and runs to the kitchen, grabs his phone and dials 911. 

He stays on the line with the operator till EMS arrives, one hand at Wade’s wrist to feel the steady thrum of his pulse. 

And still, Wade doesn’t wake. 

* * *

_Stage three prostate cancer_

_Mets in the lungs, liver, pancreas_

_One year maybe two to live_

Peter sits by his side as the diagnosis is given and the only thing Wade can think of is _who’s going to water my plants when I’m dead?_

Things pass in a blur while the doctors talk and Wade watches, disconnected like he’s at the bottom of the ocean and every thing is happening thirty thousand leagues above him. Peter takes notes and asks questions and some part of Wade is impressed by his determination to help Wade when ultimately, there’s nothing to be done. 

_Chemo_

_Radiation_

_Immunotherapy_

_Medical Trials_

It all means nothing. 

“Wade? Honey? You hungry?” 

He looks up from where he’s been staring blankly at his hands and finds Peter staring at him, smiling faintly and looking exhausted. 

“You want food Wade?” Peter prompts again, “pizza? Thai? Chinese?” 

He sounds strained, like he’s been talking to Wade for awhile and Wade hasn’t been answering. Wade nods and works up a ghost of a smile for Peter. “Pizza,” he agrees, eyes falling shut when Peter leans in and kisses his cheek. 

“Sounds good. I’m going to step out and order, I’ll be right back,” he promises earnestly, like he thinks Wade thinks he’ll just abandon him. 

Wade nods and watches him go, waits till the door shuts behind him and then exhales, long and slow, a plan that’s been bits and pieces in his mind finally coming together. 

He removes the IV in his arm and puts pressure on it with the sheet for a few seconds before removing the oxygen monitor and standing. They’d dressed him in spare scrubs but Peter had gone back to his place sometime between his X-ray and CAT scan and brought him clothes for when it was time to check out. 

He’s halfway done with tying his boots when he hears footsteps enter the room and squeak to a halt. 

_Shit_

He’d thought he’d had more time.

“Wade?”

Peter sounds confused and tired and when Wade finishes tying his boots and rises, he finds that Peter’s brows are furrowed together, confusion and worry in his beautiful brown eyes. 

“Where are you going?” Peter asks softly, “they didn’t discharge you yet.”

Wade nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, “Yup. Gotta go though. I don’t belong here.”

Peter’s brows furrow deeper and he steps in, close, and tips his chin up to stare at Wade. “What are you talking about Wade? You need to stay and fight!”

Wade scoffs, “I don’t _wanna_ fight Pete, I’m—I’m done fighting,” he mutters, “been fighting my whole damn life. I’m _tired_ of it.”

Peter’s eyes shine in the fluorescent lights, big and Bambi soft, “Wade, _please_ don’t say that,” he whispers, voice hoarse and low. Wade can see the tremble in his lips, the rapid beat of his pulse in his throat, all telltale signs of anxiety. 

“Why? It’s _true_ ,” Wade snaps, anger rising inside him now. “I’ve been fighting for one reason or another my whole goddamn life Peter, I don’t have the energy to do it anymore. I’m _done_.”

Peter looks up at him, an angry glint in his eyes now. “And what about _me_ Wade? You’re just gonna leave me behind?”

“You’re an _escort_ Peter, it was always going to end,” he snaps, lying to himself, to them both, as he turns away to grab his hoodie. 

“Not like this! Goddamnit Wade, _don’t—_ ”

A hand closes around his wrist and yanks him around sharply, and this time he sees anger and fear in Peter’s eyes. “Don’t turn your back on me!” he snaps, thin fingers wrapped too tightly, tugging on Wade’s wrist. 

Wade rips his wrist out of Peter’s grip and glares at him. “Leave me alone! It’s _my_ choice!” he snarls, heart pounding painfully in his chest because _why,_ why does Peter have to do this _now,_ when his whole world is crashing down around him. 

“Just let me _go_!” 

Peter lunges and grabs Wade by the front of his shirt and _shakes_ him, “Fuck _you_ you asshole!” he snaps, shoving at Wade till his shoulders hit the opposite wall. “Don’t you get it? I _like_ you Wade, I _want_ to be here for you through this, I want to _be with you,”_ he enunciates, like he thinks Wade is stupid or something. 

Wade stares down at him, stunned into silence for a long moment. 

_I want to be with you_

He chokes on a sob because Christ, it’s everything he’s wanted to hear for months, only it’s bitter now, twisted and ruined by his own treacherous DNA betraying him. 

He can’t even just fucking _exist_ normally. 

Peter’s face slips into something like a smile while Wade’s mind races, his eyes hopeful. His grip loosens up on Wade’s shirt and he reaches slowly with one hand, fingers trembling as he presses them to Wade’s cheek. 

They’re cold and thin and so familiar he can’t even pretend to fight the urge to lean into it, just exhales around the tightness in his chest and closes his eyes. Peter presses close then, the lean line of his body achingly warm against Wade’s as he leans in and kisses Wade. 

This kiss is exactly like all the others he’s shared with Peter except for the fact that it’s completely and utterly _different_. 

This time he’s not paying Peter for it. 

This time, Peter clings to him like he’s drowning, moaning softly when Wade finally grabs his hips and holds him tightly, kissing him back hard. 

If this is goodbye, he wants to make it a good one. 

Wade is the one to break it (his own heart) (the kiss). 

He pushes Peter away and swallows hard, “Thank you Peter, for caring about me, for everything you’ve given me.” His throat grows thick when betrayal slips into Peter’s eyes, “But I’m dyin Pete. You don’t have to stick around with a monster anymore.”

Peter’s chest hitches and he shakes his head furiously, eyes wide and too bright. “Stop it, don’t talk about yourself like that,” he orders thickly. 

Wade smirks bitterly, “I’m not paying you anymore Pete, I can say whatever I want about myself, especially if it’s true.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Peter hisses, angry again, “you’re not a monster Wade! Why won’t you let me help you?” he demands tugging at Wade’s shirt. “Why won’t you let me in?” he whispers pleadingly, eyes wide and sorrowful. 

Wade stares at him for a moment and then straightens his shoulders, steeling himself. 

“Because you’re a _whore_.”

Peter flinches like he’s been slapped and Wade tastes bile, but keeps going. 

“That’s all this ever was. I don’t care about you, so just let me go,” he murmurs, looking away when he sees agony ruin Peter’s beautiful face. It twists in his gut like a KBAR, hooking deep inside him and tearing him open so his soft insides spill out over his fingers. 

Peter withdraws slowly, pale as a ghost and shaking. “Fine...fine, if—if that’s what you want,” he stutters, swallowing hard and licking his lips, “then go.” 

He stares up at Wade challengingly, cheeks damp with tears that neither of them acknowledge, lips pressed into a thin white line, hands fisted in the fabric of his sweater sleeves, as though he’s trying to hold himself back from reaching for Wade again. 

Wade can’t help but drink his face in one last time before he nods solemnly and steps around Peter, the soft brush of fabric against skin a quiet susurration as he brushes into Peter. 

He can feel the way Peter stiffens even further, can hear the quiet inhale and ragged exhale that blows past Peter’s lips as he walks away, shoulders tight around his ears. 

“Wade?”

He pauses at the doorway and spares a glance over his shoulder to where Peter is watching him go, tears on his cheeks and arms wrapped around his torso. 

“You weren’t just a client to me. You never were. _Please_ don’t go,” he sobs, and Wade’s chest feels like it’s crushing inwards, warping around his broken heart. 

He looks down at his boots and shakes his head, throat too thick to speak for a moment. 

“You were never just an escort to me Pete... _never_.”

And then, he walks away. 

* * *

**_April_ **

**_May_ **

**_June_ **

  
  


**_July_ **

**_August_ **

_Hi Wade, I uh…[rustle of fabric] i just was calling to say….[muffled sigh] shit, I don’t know anymore Wade. You clearly don’t want to talk to me...so I guess, fine, whatever. Fucking asshole. [heavy sigh] [call ends]_

**_September_ **

_Yera fuckin jackass Wade Wilson! Fuckin...made me fall fer you…[something falls and shatters] SHIT! God fucking dammit! [long silence] [soft sobbing] fuck Wade, please, come home. Please--[call ends]_

**October**

_[slick sound of skin on skin]_ **_fuck_ ** _[breathy sigh] oh god [moan] Wade….fuck I miss you inside me honey…[gasp, wet sounds] come back Wade...I need you…[moaning] [more wet sounds, faster this time] ah! Oh god! Wade! [long moan, gasping].....i miss you Wade [call ends]_

**_November_ ** ****

_I saw a report on the internet that you’re in Afghanistan. [long silence] be careful Wade. [call ends]_

  
  


**_December_ **

  
  
  


**_January_ **

  
  
  


**_February_ **

  
  
  


**_March_ **

  
  
  


**_April_ **

_It’s been a year and I don’t even know if you’re alive anymore. I hope so. I hope….[long heavy sigh, rustle of clothing] fuck Wade...i dunno anymore. I can’t...i can’t keep doing this. I….this is goodbye. [wet laugh] I think i loved you Wade. I….[sob]....loved you. [crying] Fuck. [call ends]_

* * *

Wade Wilson is dying, and it’s not from the cancer eating away at his bones. 

No, his death is coming for him in the shape of three bullet holes and a knife to his gut. 

He’d gotten slower, weaker, and finally, the target he’d been paid to take out had gotten the drop on him. 

Now, he’s stumbling through the jungle, feverish and dizzy, barely able to see through the haze in his vision. He rubs a hand at his eyes and it comes away sticky with blood. 

_Ah_

That would be why he can’t see. 

Still, he stumbles onward, because if he stops he dies at the hands of a genocidal maniac, and well, that’s not how Wade plans on going. 

No, he has a bottle of Macallan, a gold plated bullet and an armchair all waiting for him in the seedy hotel he’s been staying in for the past month. 

_That’s_ how Wade Fuckin’ Wilson is gonna leave this world. 

He’d get a whore and have his cock sucked before too, but, it seems the cancer has taken that from him too. His dick is limper than a dead fish these days, good for nothing but pissing fire that burns in his gut when he urinates. 

He chokes on blood in his throat and spits it out, laughing bitterly. 

He’s so fucked. 

He hears loud crashing behind him and an abrupt scream that cuts off with a wet gargle and he only pauses for a moment to wonder what the fuck just took out the militia that’s been chasing him for days now before he’s hauling ass as fast as he can to get away from whatever the fuck it was. 

He stumbles over a fallen log and sprawls onto his belly, groaning as every injury and bone in his body throbs in protest. Cancer is in his fucking bones now and every step feels like agony. His breathing is shot to shit too. 

Laughing wetly, he thinks that maybe this _is_ how he’s gonna die. 

Alone and delirious from pain, wishing he was back in New York City so he could see Peter Parker’s big hazel eyes smiling at him one last time. 

He hears multiple feet thundering on the loamy earth behind him and rolls onto his knees, pushes himself up slowly, painfully—a raw roar of agony falling from his lips—and then reaches back and unsheaths his katanas. 

His breathing is ragged and painful, but he focuses on slowing it, rubs some of the blood out of his eyes and squares himself up...waiting for the inevitable. 

Two men in drab green militia uniforms burst through the underbrush wielding Kalishnikovs that look older than Wade. Still, they aren’t fast enough to stop Wade from lunging in and cutting them off at the knees—literally. 

He laughs manically at the blood and the screams and then slits their throats before looking past their bodies and through the brush to try and determine how many of the militia are left. He can’t see them, but he can hear them shouting and firing their weapons at something that isn’t him, so he wipes the blood off his blades and sheathes them before turning and running. 

Well, more like limping than running. 

The gunfire grows louder, closer and Wade curses, lunging behind an enormous tree, panting and groaning as his lungs suck in the humid air. It feels like he’s drowning his lungs are so thick, and his head swims, vision going blurry, 

Fuckin’ shit sticks...he’s gonna die. 

Something large and black bursts through the trees fifty feet to his left and he stares, confused at the sight before him. 

It’s a...man-cat? Cat-man? 

How fucking much has the cancer eaten his brain that he’s seeing cat-people now?

The cat-man stumbles as bullets whizz past him and Wade realizes he’s limping and bleeding too. Three militia members stumble from the brush and lay down heavy fire, but they don’t seem to notice Wade hiding in the shadows of the tree. 

Their attention is solely focused on the cat-man, so he slips around the wide bole of the tree and flanks them, draws his katanas and makes some fuckin’ sushi. He doesn’t have the energy for much more than a swift slice and dice and when he’s done he can feel hot blood pulsing from his wounds anew. 

The strength leaves his limbs in a dizzying rush and he collapses to his knees, blades falling from his hands as he braces himself with one hand, coughing up globules of blood that taste bitter in his mouth. 

Distantly he sees the cat-man moving, approaching slowly, slinking like...well...a cat. It studies him from a safe distance before lifting a hand to its ear and speaking in Xhosa, the fluid flow of the language soothing. 

Coughs wrack Wade’s body and he collapses, curling inward as he struggles to breathe, vision going dark around the edges. 

Footsteps approach as he fades and the last thing he sees is the cat-man staring down at him, head tilted to the side in curiosity like a real cat. 

“Good kitty,” he slurs before slumping, the darkness consuming him. 

* * *

Wade isn’t sure how long it’s been, all he knows is that he’s floating on a tide of warmth and is blissfully pain free. 

Maybe this is heaven?

Not that he’d ever end up there. 

But...maybe?

His lids feel like they’re weighed down, sticking together till he lifts a hand and rubs at them weakly, grinding away the sleep and grit. His eyes open slowly and he squints at the warm light surrounding him. It takes a few moments for his vision to really focus and when it does he can see…

Frowning, he rubs at his eyes once more because it sure looks like he woke up in a science fiction movie—and not one of the cheap Sharknado ones, one of the _good_ ones from Spielberg. 

“Ahh, you’re back with the land of living my friend, welcome!”

The voice is rich and warm, and when Wade turns to search out the source of it, he’s met with a man smiling kindly at him. He’s tall, a few inches shorter than Wade probably, with a build that’s somewhere between bulky and lean, dark skin stretching over musculature in a way that reminds Wade of a panther. 

“Wha—?”

The man smiles softly and waves a hand, dismissing Wade’s confusion. “My apologies my friend, you are, of course, unaware of where you are and who I am.” His smile turns playful, “My name is T’Challa, and you are in Wakanda.”

Wade looks around the room, at all the advanced tech and gleaming metal and snorts, “Sure dude, okay,” he murmurs, “everybody knows that Wakanda is a poor jungle country. Where am I _really_?”

T’Challa grins and laughs, clapping his hands together, “Clever Mr. Wilson, very clever. You are, however, indeed in Wakanda. We like to present a certain... _facade_ to the outside world,” he confesses, stepping closer to the spacious hospital bed Wade is resting in, “We have a valuable resource here that many would try to use to plunder our nation and use for their own benefits. We must protect ourselves,” he says solemnly. 

“ _Right_ ,” Wade murmurs sarcastically, “whatcha got? Uranium? Diamonds? Oil?” he guesses. 

T’Challa grins and shakes his head, “Vibranium.”

At that, Wade’s eyes widen because, holy shit he’s wanted to get his hands on a set of vibranium blades for _years_ . After giving up the _real_ merc work all those years ago though, had meant a loss of the kind of income that would allow him to buy a set. 

At Wade’s expression T’Challa laughs and nods, “Precisely.” He rests his hands on the roll guard bars on Wade’s bed and smiles, slow and wide and Wade is once more reminded of a cat looking self-satisfied. “So my friend, I must thank you for saving my life,” he murmurs, offering his hand for Wade to shake.

Wade stares at it in confusion. When did he save this guy? He’s never seen his face before, has no recollection of working in Wakanda in the past, or with anyone that would have brought him in proximity to this man. 

“No offense buddy, but I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he answers honestly, but still takes his hand and shakes it. What the fuck, he figures, he can’t remember a good chunk of the last month—either from drugs and alcohol or the cancer eating away at his brain. 

T’Challa smirks, “No, I thought you might not. Three days ago you stumbled over the border of Wakanda with a militia on your tail that I have also been working to stop from raiding our borders and stealing our children. There were two men with guns shooting at me and you killed them, saved me,” he explains calmly.

Wade stares at him for a long moment and realization dawns slowly. 

“Holy Bea Arthur’s tits! You’re the cat-man!” he whispers, eyes wide as he looks over T’Challa for signs of...whatever it was that turned him into the cat-man. 

T’Challa chuckles warmly and nods, “I prefer Black Panther, but yes, I am, as you say, the cat-man.” He reaches out and pats Wade’s forearm gently, without even looking or flinching at the scarring and Wade can’t help but shiver at the friendly touch. “Thank you my friend, my country owes you much.”

Wade shrugs, looking away, uncomfortable under the kind gaze. “It’s nothin man. Shitstains like that don’t deserve to live. Wasn’t gonna let them kill an unarmed man,” he mutters. 

“Ha! Unarmed? Brother, you must have been slipping if you could not defend yourself against a few soldiers!”

Wade’s head snaps toward the new voice, gaze coldly assessing the young woman that’s entered silently. She’s grinning at T’Challa and punches his shoulder when she steps up beside him and for a moment, Wade is reminded that not everyone is an enemy, that not everyone sees six different ways to kill a newcomer like he does, that some people are just _good_. 

She turns a warm smile on Wade and offers her hand as well, “Shuri,” she says, identifying herself. He takes her hand and shakes it, murmuring his own name in reply. She nods, looking self satisfied, “Yes Mr. Wilson, we know who you are,” she murmurs, toying with the beads at her wrist for a moment before a hologram appears with all his personal information—including redacted military files, kill count, and—

A photo of Peter Parker. 

He’s not sure how he’s able to move so fast, but in an instant he’s on his feet with his hands around her throat, pushing her into a wall. 

“How the _fuck_ do you know about Peter?” he growls. 

He hears T’Challa moving behind him but Shuri lifts a hand and wards him off and Wade notices for the first time how calm she is. Her eyes are warm and knowing in a way that Wade doesn’t like. She’s a stranger—she doesn’t _know_ him. 

“I will explain everything Mr. Wilson, I promise. You are safe here, we mean you no harm.” She smiles softly and toys with the beads again, bringing up his medical records. “In fact, we’d like to offer our help,” she murmurs. 

“I’m dying. You can’t help me.”

Her brow rises, taunting and knowing once more and Wade shifts uneasily. 

“Don’t be so sure about things you know nothing about,” she advises, and then a moment later she’s kicking him in the knee and clipping his windpipe with an elbow and he’s on his ass, gasping for air and peering up at her through watery eyes. 

Shuri grins down at him and holds out a hand. 

“Welcome to Wakanda.”

* * *

Wade struggles to open his eyes, blinking away the drowsiness in his system, limbs heavy and warm under the blanket that’s tucked up around his chest. It’s far too much effort to keep his eyes open so he lets them fall closed again and sighs, sinking back into the warmth surrounding him. 

“Good morning sleepyhead,” he hears, the voice soft and warm, teasing. 

“Pete?” he slurs, confused and hopeful. 

There’s a long moment of silence and then the voice speaks again. 

“Just Shuri I’m afraid,” she murmurs teasingly, voice soft with affection. He opens his eyes faintly and rolls his chin to find her beside his bed, a smile on her face. 

Not Peter then. 

Fingers brush over his brow and he smiles softly, letting his eyes fall closed again. “We removed the last of the damaged tissue and tumors. In two days we’ll be able to complete your treatment,” she murmurs, thumb caressing his brow bone gently.

Something like relief swells within him and he makes a low, involuntary sound that’s raw and wounded. Tears burn behind his lids and he sucks in a shaky breath, hands squirming out from under the blankets to cover his face. Shuri doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps stroking his brow and hums softly. 

When he finally manages to calm, he wipes at his eyes and keeps his gaze averted, exhausted from the crush of emotion. 

Shuri doesn’t say anything about his breakdown, just transitions into a chatter about the new project she’s working on for T’Challa—a pair of shoes that will allow him to move silently when he’s out as the Black Panther. 

“Sneak-ers!” she declares proudly, smirking when it entices a hoarse laugh from Wade. 

By the time he finishes eating the meal T’Challa brings him that afternoon, he’s once more deeply exhausted and ready for sleep. He listens as T’Challa tells him another story about their deity Bast, the legends of their past winding into his dreams as he slips further and further into its tides. 

He dreams of Peter, walking through the fields of flowers toward him, smiling and radiant in the sunlight spilling over his bare shoulders. Wade goes to his knees and clings to Peter’s sun warmed torso, inhaling the clean scent of his skin. 

He’s _home_.

* * *

Peter clicks away another spam email from the prince of Wakanda offering him an update on Wade Wilson and wonders momentarily when spam bots got so sophisticated as to be able to try and give him information on the one topic he refuses to let himself search for anymore. 

It’s been a year since Wade left him, and in that time he hasn’t responded to any of Peter’s texts or voicemails. He has to assume that Wade is…

He swallows hard and closes his laptop, tears pricking at his eyes. 

It’s likely...that Wade is…

Groaning, he bends over himself, elbows planting on his knees, the heels of his hands pressing into his closed eyes so hard that explosions of light burn behind the closed lids. 

Some days he wishes he’d never met Wade Fucking Wilson. 

Then his heart wouldn’t hurt all the goddamn time and his chest wouldn’t feel like it had been cracked open and left a gaping wound when Wade left. 

Exhaling shakily past wet and parted lips, he sniffles and shakes his head at his inability to go even a day without thinking of Wade. 

He’d been such an idiot. 

Thinking that Wade cared enough about him to stay. 

Huffing, he shakes his head again and forces himself to get up off the couch. 

He has a graduation to attend. 

* * *

Wade lingers in the back of the crowd, ball cap pulled low over his face, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He feels distinctly uncomfortable around this many people, but he has the best reason _ever_ for being here—even if he is in a goddamn tie and button down shirt instead of the hoodie and jeans he’d wanted to wear. 

He watches students in caps and gowns parade across the stage, waving and smiling to cheering friends and family and it sticks in his throat because he never got any of this—he got his GED after dropping out of school and coming to America and then went into the military and was turned into a killer. 

He wonders what it would be like to feel that sense of achievement, to see people cheering for him, _proud_ of him for what he’s done instead of cursing him. 

“Peter Parker!”

Snapping to attention, Wade leans forward, watching intently as Peter climbs the stairs and walks across the stage to where the Dean is waiting with his hand extended for Peter to shake. Peter looks out at the crowd and Wade’s heart lurches painfully, fear and hope knotting up in his throat at the thought that Peter might see him. 

He doesn’t though, he just smiles blandly and takes the diploma and walks off stage, lost in a sea of black.

* * *

Peter works his way through the crowds of friends and families, a pained smile on his face as he gets hugs from his few friends, waving off their offers to join them for celebratory drinks or dinners. 

All he wants is to go home and get drunk. 

If he was still working for Sister Margaret’s he’d take a client—maybe getting fucked would help him lose himself. 

He’s just at the edge of the crowd where it’s starting to thin out, nearly home free and then—

“Congrats Pete. Black suits you.”

Every nerve in his body tingles and his limbs go stiff when he hears that voice...that voice that hasn’t heard in a year, that voice that he’d have done almost anything to hear again. 

It can’t be though, because Wade is dead. 

He has to be. 

Swallowing hard, he turns slowly and lifts his gaze, heart thundering in his chest. 

A sob tears past his lips. 

It’s Wade. 

The crowds move around them like the tides of the ocean, pushing and pulling until suddenly they’re standing in front of each other, and Peter is shaking so hard he feels like he might burst apart. 

Wade stares at him hungrily, gaze fixed on his face, the intensity of emotion in his eyes making Peter look away and swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“Pete.”

Rage swells in him suddenly, hot and furious and he whips his head back up to glare at Wade. 

“What the fuck do you want?” he snarls, “shouldn’t you be ignoring me and dying in some remote corner of the world?”

Wade flinches but looks resigned, shoulders slumping. “I uh, I’m not sick anymore,” he murmurs, gaze flickering around like he’s scared to look at Peter for too long. 

“Good for you,” Peter snaps back, arms crossing over his chest defensively. “Is that all you came to tell me? Or do I get to know where you were for a year? Or _how_ you aren’t sick anymore? Or why the _fuck_ you left in the first place?” 

He’s barely aware of anything around them, anger and hurt pulsing through his veins so hot it makes him struggle to breathe properly. “You left Wade, you left and ignored me and left me to imagine you dying alone and in pain. So what do you want? Do you want forgiveness?” he demands, “ _Fine_ ,” he spits, “you’re forgiven. Now go away.”

He turns his back on Wade and starts to walk away, but Wade isn’t staying behind, no he’s loping along beside Peter, calling his name and reaching out. Peter walks faster and ignores him till they reach his car and he fishes out his keys with shaking hands, cursing when he fumbles them and drops them to the ground. 

Wade moves in a flash and grabs them, holds them out without a word and Peter hates him a little for being so kind when Peter can’t stop lashing out and hurting him. Wade hurt him first, he reasons, it’s only fair that Peter is upset.

Peter unlocks the door to his car and rips off his gown and tosses it along with his cap and diploma onto the passenger seat, desperately aware of the fact that Wade is still there, silent like a sentry. Steeling himself, he refuses to let himself look back, just climbs in and starts the car, ignoring the pain in his chest trying to choke him. 

When he looks up, Wade’s bright blue eyes meet his, filled to the brim with pain and sorrow. 

Peter tears his gaze away as it fills with tears and doesn’t look back. 

* * *

“So you ambushed him at his graduation and expected it to go well?” 

Wade ducks his chin, abashed under Shuri’s close scrutiny. “Yes?” he whispers. 

“ _Wade_.”

She sounds exasperated and rightly so—Wade knows that he fucked up, _again_. He just wanted to see Peter on his graduation day, but like most of Wade’s plans, it had gone to shit. 

“I just wanted to see him and try to talk,” he murmurs, lifting his gaze to meet hers through the screen of his cell phone. 

Her pretty face melts into something sympathetic, eyes soft and warm. “You are a good man Wade, but you hurt Peter and you shouldn’t be surprised that he needs time and space.” She sighs softly, “Perhaps you can try again by writing him an email or a letter,” she suggests. 

Wade nods slowly, he never responded to any of Peter’s calls or texts, so maybe starting there and working on repairing their friendship would be a good place to start. Sighing tiredly, he rubs a hand over his face and focuses on not breaking down crying in front of Shuri. 

“It’s going to take time to unbreak a heart Wade, but you are a clever and kind man—I have no doubt that you can do this.”

“Maybe,” he demures, swallowing hard and looking back up to offer her a tired smile. 

Shuri sighs and shakes her head, like she knows he’s thinking that maybe he isn’t worth Peter’s time. 

“Would you like to see the video I took of T’Challa using his new suit?” she asks, voice playful, “You will enjoy it, I swear.”

Wade works up a smile for her and nods, deeply grateful to the young woman for her friendship and understanding. 

He laughs when T’Challa gets knocked ass over teakettle, and for the first time in weeks he doesn’t feel so bad. 

* * *

Peter stares blankly at the screen in front of him, mind entirely lost in thinking about the way Wade had looked the last time they saw each other after his graduation. He had been dressed nicely—far nicer than Peter was used to seeing him—as though he had been trying to make an effort to impress Peter. 

He doesn’t want to appreciate it, doesn’t want to think about how _good_ Wade had looked, but he hasn’t been able to help going through the photos he’d taken of Wade that he’d “forgotten” to delete from his phone after everything had ended between them. 

Seeing the way Wade had smiled in those photos, the way he had blushed and grinned makes it all too easy to recall just how much Peter loves him, how hopelessly he’d fallen for a client and how thoroughly his heart had been broken because of it. 

He’s been foolish and weak about Wade, let the man in behind all his walls when he knew it was as dangerous as it had been when the Trojans accepted that infamous horse. What’s worse is he doesn’t think Wade ever wanted to hurt him—but he did anyway and Peter isn’t sure how to move forward now that he knows Wade is back and healthy. 

His phone vibrates and he looks away from the computer, fingers numb when he reaches for the phone. When he sees Wade’s name on the screen his brows rise sharply; shock, anger, and hope pouring through his veins. He’s breathless and his heart beats too fast in his chest, pounding against his ribs in a reckless rhythm. 

Peter stares at the screen till his vision goes blurry and he realizes he’s moments away from breaking down crying in front of his coworkers. With a sniffling hitched breath, he locks his computer and power walks to the bathroom, head down so no one can see his distress. 

Once he’s there he paces, staring at the screen, heart in his throat, choked by too many emotions to process. He’s scared to respond, terrified of having his heart broken again, but his gut wrenches at the idea of never seeing Wade again. 

Swallowing hard, he stops pacing and opens the texting app, fingers hovering over the screen for a long time before he exhales shakily and starts typing. 

__

* * *

They text back and forth for weeks without ever seeing each other in person and it’s killing Wade a little, but at the same time, it’s good. He’s getting to take things slow with Peter, getting to know him in a way he hadn’t as his client. The things he’s learned have taught him so much about who Peter is as a person, and he can’t help but fall for him a little more each day that passes. 

He wants to show Peter all his ghosts and heartaches, come clean about everything that’s happened in his life, turn off the voices in his head till only the good remains, but he knows that Peter isn’t going to magically heal him, that he’s going to have to go to therapy and take the pills and it sucks, but he’s ready to be better. 

Even a fool like him can change. 

* * *

Peter smiles softly as Wade chatters on in his ear about his therapy session, sounding happier and lighter than he has in the past few weeks. He knows Wade has his ups and downs, but it’s encouraging to hear that he’s seeking treatment for the trauma he’s suffered, that he’s fighting for himself. 

“So she suggested that I take up hobbies, try to find something to enjoy and give myself purpose.”

“That sounds good,” Peter murmurs, “what are you thinking about doing?”

“I think I’m gonna volunteer at a local no kill shelter. I’d like to be a foster home for cats and dogs and give them a safe place.” 

Wade sounds hopeful and happy and it makes Peter smile, heart lurching in his chest. 

“That sounds wonderful Wade, you’re going to be amazing at that.”

Wade makes a soft pleased sound and Peter can almost imagine the blush on his cheeks. He shifts in bed, tugging on his hair with his free hand, trying to distract himself from thoughts of a blushing Wade and all the lovely memories that come with it. 

“Thanks Pete, that means a lot,” Wade murmurs softly, and over the line Peter can hear the shifting of his bedsheets as Wade squirms at the praise. Closing his eyes, he imagines what it would feel like to be in Wade’s bed again, to feel him beside him, to hear the way Wade sighs his name so happily. 

Swallowing hard, he exhales shakily, words lodging in his throat. 

There’s so much he wants to say, but he holds it back because they still haven’t seen each other yet. It’s been three months since they agreed to try and be friends and he aches to see Wade, but he’s scared...scared of what might happen if he lets himself go and says all the things he’s been thinking. 

“Pete?”

“Hmm? Yea?”

“I...do you want to get dinner on Saturday? There’s a mexican place I think you’d like…”

Peter smiles softly and sighs happily, “Yea Wade. I’d like that.”

He can practically _hear_ Wade’s smile over the silence of the call and it makes his heart flutter in a way that doesn’t bode well for his continued denial of being in love. 

“Okay, that’s...that’s great Pete. I uh...it’s late, I guess I should let you get some sleep,” Wade murmurs, though he sounds hesitant to say it, and truthfully, Peter is hesitant to say goodbye. 

Still, Wade is right, it’s late and he has work tomorrow. 

“Yea, you should get some rest too,” Peter says quietly, fingers furrowing through his hair over and over again. 

The line goes silent for a long time and Peter’s lungs feel like they’re too small to hold all the oxygen he needs, fluttery and weak. 

“Goodnight Wade. Sweet dreams.”

Wade makes a soft sound, like he’s hurting.

“Night Pete. They’ll be about you.”

And then the line goes dead and Peter is left staring up at his bedroom ceiling till the small hours of the night, unable to stop smiling and go to sleep. 

* * *

Peter paces as he waits for Wade to show up at the restaurant, restlessly running his hands through his hair and panicking that he’s not wearing the right thing. He’d changed four times and even FaceTimed with Ned to try and pick something casual but nice, and yet somehow he’s ended up in dark skinny jeans, slate blue loafers, and a grey henley that clings too much for a casual dinner with a friend. 

What if Wade thinks this is a date?

_Christ_

Turning, he inhales sharply when he almost runs face first into Wade’s solid chest. Wide eyed, he looks up at Wade, frozen in place as those brilliant blue eyes stare back at him, so hopeful and bright it makes his stomach lurch. 

“Hi.”

Peter lets out a shaky exhale at Wade’s soft greeting, the tension in his body releasing a touch so he’s not so stiff. “Hi Wade,” he murmurs, lips curling up in what he hopes is a friendly expression. 

It must be, because Wade smiles back and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, “It’s uh, it’s great to see you,” he says, eyes darting to the side as a group of teens walk past laughing and talking. 

“You too,” Peter replies dumbly, “It’s...you look good,” he says, gaze flickering over Wade’s body for a moment before coming back to his face. Wade is blushing of course, and Peter coughs, looking aside as heat rushes to his cheeks too. 

Wade laughs nervously, “Uh, you wanna?” he jerks a thumb at the restaurant, taking a half step toward the building, hesitant and hopeful. Peter nods and shoots him what he hopes is a normal looking smile, focusing on not tripping over his feet as Wade opens the door for him and steps inside behind him. 

They’re shown to a small booth in the back that’s quiet and away from the few families at other tables. Peter sinks into the seat gratefully and takes the menu from the young woman, opening it rapidly to hide behind as he tries to get his shit together. 

He sneaks peeks over the edge of it, but Wade does too, and every time their eyes connect Wade blushes and Peter has to look away or risk getting stuck staring into his bright blue eyes. They sit in awkward silence and Peter hates it, hates it so much that he finally tosses his menu aside and stares intently at Wade, waiting for the other man to look up before he smiles as reassuringly as he can. 

“So, what did you do today?” he asks, feeling a little silly for asking such a basic small talk question, but hell, they have to start _somewhere_. 

Wade exhales, big shoulders dropping, like a weight’s been lifted. His lips quirk up at the corners and the lines around his eyes feather, warmth filling them as he looks at Peter appreciatively. “I called my friend Weasel and talked to him for the first time in almost two years,” he says, lips twisting into something a little sad, but he laughs softly, “he uh, chewed me out good for not telling him I was sick and for a bunch of other stuff.”

Wade glances up at Peter and he’s struck with the thought that the “other stuff” was probably about him. It’s a little odd, to think that Wade talks about him to other people, but Peter supposes that’s not fair—he’s told Ned all about Wade. 

Cried on his couch drunk about it a few times too. 

Peter nods and smiles softly, “It’s great you got back in touch with him,” he replies, “how do you guys know each other?”

Wade hesitates and then smirks, but it doesn’t go to his eyes, it’s sad and broken and makes Peter’s heart lurch. 

“When I was out of the military and recovering from surgery and shit, I found this bar, and Weasel was—is—the bartender slash owner.”

Peter nods and Wade continues, looking uncomfortable. 

“There’s a lot of folks out there like me—disaffected, dangerous, and in need of cash.” He looks up at Peter, as though gauging his reaction, and then continues, “There’s people out there willing to pay people like me to do bad things for a lot of money. I took the money, did bad shit, and survived. I had a purpose. Even if it was a bad one,” he murmurs, shrugging a shoulder, gaze downcast and dark. 

“Do you miss it?” Peter asks impulsively, wishing he could kick himself when Wade looks up, surprised. Wade stares at him for a moment and then sighs, shaking his head. 

“Not after this last year. I mean, sure the money was great, but I donated most of it. Didn’t think I had a reason to keep it,” he murmurs with a dark laugh and Peter can feel this going bad, so he reaches out and covers Wade’s hand with his own. The surprise in Wade’s eyes makes him squeeze down gently, reassuringly. 

“I’m glad you made it home safe,” he starts off, “and I’m _more_ glad that you reached out to me, even if we didn’t get off to a great start,” he says with a wry laugh that teases out a small smile from Wade. 

Clearing his throat, he smiles softly, “So, you told me about volunteering at the shelter, have you started with that yet?”

And just like that, they’re off, talking about pets and animal care and how excited Wade is to help, bright blue eyes shining with pleasure. Their conversation carries on through dinner, as they walk through the dark back to Peter’s apartment, and then sputters to a halt when they stop at the door, both of them smiling awkwardly. 

It’s not a date. 

But _god_ does Peter want to kiss Wade. 

Clearing his throat, he looks away and swallows hard—they aren’t ready for that, _he’s_ not ready for that, not yet anyway. 

When he glances back up Wade is blushing, hands shoved into his jeans, and he’s biting his lip, looking uncertain. 

Resolve firming, Peter steps forward, opening his arms. “Can I have a hug?” he asks softly, smiling when Wade nods and steps into his waiting embrace. Long arms circle around his back, hands spanning the expanse of his spine, the weight of them warm and reassuring. 

Peter lets himself melt into it, tucks his head against Wade’s neck and inhales the familiar scent of his skin, shivering as Wade makes a small sound, hands tightening against Peter. It feels so right, holding Wade like this. 

When they part, it’s slow and lingering, and they’re both pink in the face. Peter swallows hard at the butterflies dancing in his belly and the tremor in his hands that makes him want to grab back onto Wade and never let go. 

“I had a great time,” he murmurs, “let’s do it again,” he suggests, smiling at the way Wade’s face lights up at the words. 

Wade nods enthusiastically and rocks in place for a moment before clearing his throat, “I’ll text you tomorrow.” He waves and edges backwards, gaze locked on Peter till he trips and stumbles, cursing and blushing bright red as he waves again and ducks his head, hurrying down the stairs and out of Peter’s sight. 

It’s not till he’s in bed and staring up at the ceiling that Peter realizes he hasn’t quit smiling all night. 

* * *

They go from seeing each other once a week to nearly every night—splitting their time between Peter’s place and Wade’s, playing video games, teaching Minnie cute tricks, going out for Mexican, watching movies and the more time that passes, the more Wade knows that he’s head over heels for Peter—more than he was before if that’s possible. 

Because now Peter isn’t just some unattainable fantasy, he’s real, and he’s even better than the fantasy ever was. 

Wade watches him sleep, studies the way his eyelids look like the shimmer of a pearl, delicate and beautiful as he slumbers. His chest rises and falls slowly, his sleep deep and untroubled. He’d come over to Wade’s to play video games and watch movies, but halfway through Mortal Engines he had slumped into Wade’s side and hadn’t moved since. 

It’s selfish maybe, to hold Peter like this, to watch him while he sleeps, but Wade thinks after six months of purely platonic touches, he can take this tiny moment and cherish it. He brushes a lock of hair back from Peter’s face and restrains himself from tracing the fine bones of his face, heart locked in his throat. 

Peter stirs, a soft sleepy sound falling from his plush lips and Wade inhales unsteadily, watching as he rouses, long dark lashes fluttering for long moments before opening on warm honey hazel eyes. Peter smiles sleepily up at him and sighs, eyes falling closed again as he snuggles deeper into Wade’s side. 

“Nice’n warm,” Peter sighs sleepily, fingers splaying out and then clenching where they’d been laying on Wade’s stomach. 

Wade doesn’t know what to say to that, just holds onto Peter a little tighter, hoping that this moment can last forever. Peter shifts again, making a soft sound of discomfort and Wade tightens his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “What’s the matter Pete?” 

Peter sighs and opens his eyes to smile at Wade, “Nothin, just...my butt hurts from the couch,” he admits, and Wade laughs softly, squeezing him close. 

“Do you wanna get up?” Wade offers, laughing softly when Peter makes a disgruntled noise and shakes his head. “Well—”

He’s cut off when Peter shifts suddenly, hitching a leg over Wade’s hips, turning into him more fully. Swallowing hard, he waits till Peter stops shifting and then looks down, tension easing when he sees how pleased Peter looks. 

“Y’re very comfy,” Peter murmurs sleepily, yawning hugely before he leans in and brushes a kiss against Wade’s cheek. He nuzzles into the space beneath Wade’s chin, the touch of his lips brushing against Wade’s skin once more sends a shiver over his body. 

“Thanks,” he manages to stutter out, heart racing wildly. 

Peter had _kissed him._

Peter sighs softly, breath feathering against Wade’s skin and he thinks for just a moment that this might kill him, this love. It aches deep inside him, twined into his bones, so deeply entrenched that he thinks if anything ever happened to Peter, it would ruin him. 

_Christ_ what a privilege it would be to be ruined by Peter Parker. 

Peter smacks his lips sleepily and clutches tighter at the collar of Wade’s shirt. 

Wade stays up for hours watching Peter sleep, till his eyes are too tired to stay open any longer, and he finally succumbs to the exhaustion tugging at his bones. 

It’s the best night's sleep he’s had in years. 

* * *

When Peter wakes up the next morning, he’s in Wade’s arms and his sleepy kiss comes back to him in a rush, his breath catching in his throat when he recalls how he’d crossed that boundary of platonic straight into romantic. 

Wade is still asleep, but Peter’s bladder is insistent, so he can’t lay here till Wade wakes up and try to see if he’ll say something about the kiss. Cursing inwardly, he shifts carefully, lifting himself off Wade and hurries to the bathroom. 

It’s just as familiar now as it was all those months ago that he was here in an entirely different capacity. He washes his hands when he’s done and stares at his reflection, at the pink in his cheeks and the mess of his hair and wonders, wonders if maybe this is the turning point for he and Wade. 

He can be honest with himself now—he doesn’t _just_ want to be Wade’s friend, he wants to wake up next to him every day, kiss him good morning and good night, introduce him to his friends. He wants _everything_. 

With a shaky breath, he turns away and heads back out. 

Wade is awake and sitting up, stretching his arms over his head so his shirt slides up, and Peter’s mouth goes dry at the taut muscle and hip that’s exposed. He’s tasted that skin, licked and sucked at it. Glancing aside, he clears his throat and tries to will away the flush on his cheeks. When he glances back up, Wade is blushing and tugging his shirt down. 

He’s nervous, _fuck_ he’s so nervous...swallowing around the knot in his throat, Peter smiles faintly, “Sorry I kinda pinned you down last night,” he murmurs, immediately cursing himself in his head when Wade blushes and squirms at the unintended innuendo. 

“I uh, I don’t mind,” Wade says, “Did you sleep okay?” he asks, looking up at Peter through his lashes. 

Peter nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, then thinks that maybe it looks like he’s uncomfortable and takes them back out. _Fuck_ what does he do with his hands?? Crossing his arms nervously over his chest he smiles at Wade, “I did. Did you?” 

Wade nods and rubs a hand over the back of his neck—a sure sign he’s nervous. 

“Sorry bout the couch being uncomfortable. I oughta buy a new one,” he says with a wry smile, “Never really cared about it before.”

Peter shrugs, “I’ve slept on worse,” he says and immediately wants to thump his head against the wall at the carefully blank look that crosses Wade’s face. He knows what the other man is thinking—Peter’s slept on worse because of his old job. 

Sighing, Peter lets his hands fall to the side and walks over to the couch, hovering for a moment before he sits down and turns to face Wade. Wade looks more nervous than before and Peter debates for a moment before deciding to keep his hands to himself for this. 

He swallows hard and stares intently at Wade, watching the shock pass over his face as he speaks. “Wade, I kissed you last night and I want to do it again. I want to take you out on dates and stay in and play video games and fall asleep on your shitty couch and I want to wake up next to you every day.”

By the time he’s done, Wade is trembling beside him, entire body tense and Peter feels a flash of fear that he’s ruined this. In the next moment Wade is sliding to the floor, knees thumping on the hardwood floor and then he’s between Peter’s knees and his lips are on Peter’s and his head is spinning with how good it is. 

Wade kisses him till they’re both breathless and when Peter manages to pull away he laughs softly, nudging Wade’s nose with his.

“Is that a yes?

Wade grins and kisses him again. 

“That’s a _hell yes_ baby.”

* * *

  
  


Peter caresses the shivering skin of Wade’s thigh, nails gently scraping down his leg, smirking when Wade’s whole body quivers and a whine slips from his throat. It’s muffled slightly by the way Wade’s face is pressed into the pillows, but Peter hears it nonetheless. He runs his fingers back up slowly, tracing through the sheen of sweat that’s on Wade’s skin--they’ve been at this for awhile now, the sun setting slowly in the background painting Wade’s skin a rosey pink that matches the blush that’s on his skin. 

The ocean breeze blows through the open doors and wicks the sweat on their skin away, cooling the flush from Peter’s cheeks and sending a shiver over his skin. It’s warm here, tropical and lush and so very different from New York, but he loves it, loves being here with Wade. 

It’s been a year since that day he’d asked Wade if they could try dating, and since that day he’s only fallen more in love with Wade. He’s shared his heartbreak and told Wade about Gwen and Uncle Ben, introduced him to Aunt May and Ned and MJ. 

They moved in together three months after starting to date, got engaged six months later, and then two days ago had tied the knot at Tony Stark’s cabin in upstate New York. His boss had insisted on throwing them a wedding and Peter hadn’t really wanted to say no, not when he saw how happy it made Wade to plan everything. 

This honeymoon is more expensive than either he or Wade could afford, but Tony had waved off his thanks and sent them away on his private jet with a smile and an awkward hug, insisting that the expense was nothing compared to the revenue that Peter’s work on biomechanical limbs for amputees would yield. 

“Pete?”

The soft murmur of his name draws Peter’s gaze away from the setting sun and back down to his husband, a soft smile on his lips. He runs a hand up Wade’s back and gently pushes him over onto his side and then his back. Smirking, he swipes a finger up Wade’s red and leaking cock, heat curling into his belly when it twitches desperately and drips more pre cum. 

“Yea baby?” he murmurs, stroking back down Wade’s cock with one finger as he waits for his husband to respond. Wade moans and shudders, head falling back as he squirms in delight at the touch, mouth falling open as he pants and moans. 

“Please, Pete, need you,” Wade begs, hips arching up off the bed, body pleading with Peter for more. 

Hushing him softly, Peter leans down and kisses him sweetly, hands pressing Wade’s broad chest down into the lush fabric of the sheets beneath them. Wade goes pliant instantly, a soft pleased gasp escaping his lips as Peter kisses him till he knows Wade is dizzy with need. 

Peter loves the sounds Wade makes when he’s down and completely free of artifice or self consciousness. When it’s like this, Wade radiates pure joy, even as he’s writhing and begging and desperate. Peter rubs a thumb idly over Wade’s nipple, smirking against his lips as Wade whines and tries to arch into the touch. 

He’s been teasing and toying with Wade since before dinner--he’d rimmed Wade in the shower after their afternoon on the beach until he was hard and begging to come and then worked a plug into him. Wade had squirmed all through their meal, cheeks pink and eyes glazed with desire as he knelt at Peter’s side, eating the small bites Peter offered to him. 

It’s been a slow and lazy day after their morning of learning how to surf, and now he wants nothing more than to take Wade apart till Peter is the only thing he can sense--he wants to completely overwhelm Wade and fill all his broken parts with love. 

He kisses Wade hard, moaning into his mouth, the desire to touch and taste filling him till he’s struggling to breathe with the weight of it inside him. The marks he leaves on Wade’s throat and chest are deep, bruising, beautiful. He sinks his teeth into Wade’s skin and feels a feral surge of desire at the shout of pleasure Wade lets out, cock twitching where it’s still trapped in his briefs. 

He knows how sensitive Wade gets when he’s been played with like this, how his body takes stimulation--good or bad--and relays it as sensation that drives Wade deeper into subspace. He wields this knowledge like the sharp edge of a knife and spends a good half hour just on Wade’s nipples, licking, biting, sucking, pinching, till Wade’s cheeks are wet with tears of pleasure and his chest is littered with bite marks and hickies. 

Wade’s cock throbs and leaks, trapped from coming by the ring attached to the plug inside him, making a mess of his belly as Peter continues to touch and tease him. Wade’s voice is hoarse from moaning and begging, bright blue eyes shining and wet. His lips are bitten and red, slick from Peter’s kisses and he’s so tempted to slide his cock between those lips and come down his throat, but no, he has a plan and he’s going to stick to it. 

Leaning back, Peter rolls to his side, props himself up on an elbow beside Wade and rubs gently at the swollen and pink flesh of his nipple, smirking when Wade sobs and shudders, begging nonsensically. 

“You’re doing so good Wade,” he croons, rubbing Wade’s belly gently, “my beautiful boy, taking what I give you, letting me mark you so everyone can see you’re mine.”

Wade gasps, eyes flying open to find Peter’s gaze, a shaky hand lifting from where he’s been clutching the sheets to reach out and touch Peter’s face. 

“Yours,” he whispers hoarsely, “always.”

Unexpected tears blur Peter’s vision and he inhales raggedly, falling forward to kiss Wade fiercely, a sob hitching in his chest as Wade curls into him with a soft sigh of his name that tickles against his lips and finds a home in his mouth. 

Peter works his briefs off as he kisses Wade sloppily, too overwhelmed to continue to delay. He needs to be inside Wade.

Panting, he rolls Wade over onto his back and reaches between his legs to work the plug out and the cock ring off with a slick sound that makes his gut clench. Wade gasps, lifting his hips in a silent offering that Peter has no intention of denying. 

He pushes in, groaning at the slick heat that envelops him, Wade’s body warm and welcoming, pulling him in deeper as he clenches down on Peter’s cock with a cry of pleasure that echoes out through the open doors and joins the crashing of the waves in the air. 

Wade’s hands clings to Peter’s back as he thrusts into him, head thrown back, throat taut around his cries of Peter’s name, sweat gleaming on his skin. It’s hot and humid between them and Peter pants for breath, chest burning as he looks down between them to see where his cock is disappearing into Wade. 

He groans deeply, a half shuddering sob tearing out of his throat at the sight. 

“Christ Wade, look--look how good you take me,” he gasps, “so fucking perfect.”

Wade keens and clings tighter to Peter, “For you Pete, good for _you_ ,” he gasps, crying out loudly when Peter slams into him, the last vestiges of his control slipping at the hoarsely whispered words. 

Tension builds in his gut, a growing need to come making him fuck harder, demanding Wade’s release from him with bruising kisses and sharp thrusts. Wade writhes and sobs beneath him, thighs trembling where they’re hitched around Peter’s waist, fingers digging into Peter’s back. 

“C’mon Wade, come for me,” Peter pants, his own release imminent. Wade nods and arches into him, and when Peter leans in and whispers, “Come for me my beautiful husband,” he orders and spills between them, hot and messy. 

Peter groans at the clench on his cock and sits back so he can grab Wade’s cock and stroke it hard and fast, gut clenching at the way it makes Wade howl and convulse beneath him, face contorted in ecstatic agony. 

It’s the last thing Peter sees before he comes, eyes screwing shut as he spills inside Wade, gasping and crying out loudly. He works Wade’s cock as he thrusts, hips snapping forward hard as he slows gradually, chest heaving with emotion and exertion. When he finally peels his eyes open again, Wade is whining and writhing beneath him, Peter’s hand still on his slowly softening cock. 

They’ve toyed with post-orgasm stimulation, but Peter already knows this isn’t the time--they’re both worked up and need to come down together. 

Maybe tomorrow night. 

After all, they have the rest of their days and nights to try new things. 

* * *

Wade wakes to the sound of the beach crashing on the shore, the bed confusingly empty of Peter. With a frown he slides from beneath the sheets and sighs softly, tension slipping away when he spies his husband leaning on the railing of their balcony. 

The moonlight turns his pale skin to alabaster, gleaming in the dark and Wade stands quietly for a moment to stare at him, chest filled with love. 

He’s stunning like this--even more so than he’d been on their wedding day, and Wade had thought he’d never seen anything as beautiful as he had that day. 

With Tony Stark and King T’Challa of Wakanda in charge, no detail or expense had been spared, and at some point, Wade knows he needs to thank them both privately for making their wedding perfect, but for now, all he wants is to hold his husband. 

Stepping out onto the worn wood of the balcony, he steps up behind Peter and wraps his arms around his slim waist, tucking his face in against Peter’s throat. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Peter nods minutely, “Not used to the sound of the waves I guess. If it was honking horns and sirens I’d sleep like a baby,” he murmurs with a laugh and Wade grins, lips pressing to the soft skin of Peter’s throat. 

Wade hums in agreement and shifts to stare out at the dark waves below them, rolling in and out endlessly, always moving, always changing. He can feel Peter’s heart beating slow and steady under his palm, body warm and reassuring against his. 

Peter lifts a hand to cover Wade’s and for a moment their vibranium gold alloy rings tap together to make a clear ringing sound. They were a gift from T’Challa and Tony, along with a set of vibranium katanas for Wade and a lab for Peter (which he didn’t know about and would only find out about once they got back from their honeymoon). 

Sighing happily, Wade nuzzles into Peter’s neck, inhaling the comforting scent of his skin. This, right here, is his sanctuary. He finds his strength in Peter, in the knowledge that Peter loves him no matter what. 

His lips press to the skin behind Peter’s ear gently. “I love you,” he murmurs hoarsely, throat thick with emotion. 

Peter shifts in his arms and tilts his chin so he can smile blindingly bright at Wade, the dimples in his cheeks making Wade’s stupid heart stutter. God he loves this man so much it hurts sometimes. 

“I love you too,” Peter murmurs, leaning in that little bit extra so he can kiss Wade, and this, right here, is where Wade belongs. 

When the world caves in and everything feels like it comes crashing down, when the voices in his head make him cry and hate everything, this is his safe haven. He’s spent more than half his life on the run, alone, brokenhearted and just plain broken. 

Now though, he’s not alone. 

Now he’s unbroken. 

Now, he’s _home_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, they finally got their happy ending! I hope you all enjoyed the story! Thank you for reading!
> 
> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say in the comments!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!
> 
> Edit 6/1/20: Hi folks, there is a user leaving comments that are rude, inflammatory, and vicious and I’d ask that you don’t engage with them. Please don’t feed the trolls! Thank you for reading, I appreciate you so much for being kind and respectful in your interactions with this fic and myself.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say in the comments!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


End file.
